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Coach said, walk into the swing, like
you're gonna go right through it, a smooth
arc, as if never hit the ball, focus on the
far of the arc beyond it.

I tried it, swung the beechwood
bat, the arc followed
through, with a hitch
in the middle, where the ball connected, rode
on, thrums up into my forearms.

Now every day walk for the end of the sunlight,
into the purple sunset like crushed berries,
you will want outer space as well,
you will want
past constellations

summer
haze of bees

John Hughes's Questions:

Is the formal procession toward the indeterminate and silent acceptable?