Please sing to me, Muse of Division IV
(her name is Crystal; dirty-haired, she holds
a half-drunk can of Keystone) Golden Empire
League basketball in 1995,
Paul Wickwire making threes, left-handed arcs
I tracked, like Galileo, for seven months.
The gyms were little coals in mountain dark.
What lasts is only the fidelity
of every game, each player like a needle
on time's slow vinyl, making mystic marks,
the dusty averages that told our youth.
In trying out our bodies in the gently
heated air of Golden Sierra's gym,
our motions made a decimal testament.
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