True Story

at the edge of the field

the ball bounced to me

and something buried came awake

I took the ball up in rough hands,

felt the golden lace

that once contained us both

you were empty

under your fruiting tree

an untuned radio

washing away your memory

“let’s play?” I said,

held the ball weakly

you looked away

and asked vaguely

what we look like

from the sky.