When you play, sometimes–
sometimes–the moon turns her back.
You can’t see her face.

        Estrada’s gotta hinder Erstad.
        Erstad’s gotta touch the plate.

You’re binary stars.
Orbit. Tempt. Brush off a kiss.
Slow. Reverse afresh.

        Erstad’s gotta beat Estrada.
        Estrada got the ball too late.

        Estrada got no time to balance.
        Erstad got a full-speed stride.

You’re not free. You dance
to gravity’s melody.
Two bodies, one space.

        Erstad got a quick decision:
        Estrada? Nada. They collide.

You fall in concert,
absorbed into the moment.
The game owns your flesh.