Poem — Mark of the Day


Australian Rules Football

Watching him go up the sky, as if he

held some secret toe-holds in the crowd-rung

air. Long fingers, stretching into all the

grey and difficult distance — glistening,

robed with rings of rain and silver

light. He knows his own degrees. Less than a

go-between for gods — nevertheless, were

this the very Port of Mars, this warrior

rises, risking all our soft Saturday

fears of losing; more than a match. He flies

for all of us, clutching at the sun — way

out of reach. But catching any piece of sky

isn’t enough, what counts is still the worth

of what he does with it, back here on earth.

Jeff Guess

from his collection LEAVING MAPS



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