The Goal
¶ 1
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The angler casts out his line
And so begins the restraint of time
Autumn skies bind with the watery plane
The float – a star, to which eyes train
Patiently waiting for the bite
Every disturbed tree line ring is traced
In ripples of the orange pool
From the bank, he sits, he waits
¶ 2
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As so the fan waits on the terraces
Tracking the flight of the ball
His sky blue eyes fixate
To floodlit shadows as they fall
And rearrange themselves across
The green velvet chalk board
On the back of untold seconds
The fan stoops in the pause
¶ 3
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As chilly September winds call
His hands grasp at the air
Doubts begin to trickle into his mind
A bated breath, a silent prayer
His feet shuffle in defiance
To the burden of the stand
His fingers collect in the flow
Of the passing sand
¶ 4
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The grassy canvas that covers his gaze
Fits such a perfect still
For his inner vision to spring to life
And play out the final kill
In the delay of idle seconds
The pouncing boot greets the ball
The prize is in the back of the net
The catch, the goal
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