after practice： right foot

    to left foot， stepping forward and back，

    to right foot and left foot，

    and left foot up to his thigh¹， holding

    it on his thigh as he twists

    around in a circle， until it rolls

    down the inside of his leg，

    like a tickle² of sweat， not catching³

    and tapping on the soft

    side of his foot， and juggling⁴

    once， twice， three times，

    hopping⁵ on one foot like a jump-roper

    in the gym， now trapping

    and holding the ball in midair，

    balancing it on the instep

    of his weak left foot， stepping forward

    and forward and back， then

    lifting it overhead until it hangs there；

    and squaring off his body，

    he keeps the ball aloft with a nudge

    of his neck， heading it

    from side to side， softer and softer，

    like a dying refrain，

    until the ball， slowing， balances

    itself on his hairline，

    the hot sun and sweat filling his eyes

    as he jiggles this way

    and that， then flicking⁶ it up gently，

    hunching⁷ his shoulders

    and tilting⁸ his head back， he traps it

    in the hollow of his neck，

    and bending at the waist， sees his shadow，

    his dangling⁹ T-shirt， the bent¹⁰

    blades of brown grass in summer heat；

    and relaxing， the ball slipping

    down his back. . .and missing his foot.

    He wheels around， he marches

    over the ball， as if it were a rock

    he stumbled into， and pressing

    his left foot against it， he pushes it

    against the inside of his right

    until it pops into the air， is heeled

    over his head——the rainbow！——

    and settles on his extended thigh before

    rolling over his knee and down

    his shin， so he can juggle¹¹ it again

    from his left foot to his right foot

    ——and right foot to left foot to thigh——

    as he wanders， on the last day

    of summer， around the empty field.

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