Anderson on Court

Your fingers, brimming, like a vast
River delta, with days of hook
Shots and backyard games,
Were once long and thin,

Now, a blunted knife, they rest on
Cold concrete, dulled and listless,
Like the white, pillow resting under
Your head, as you recall distant
Halcyon days,

And your dark, round eyes stare
Into the rising moon’s luminous,
White light that is seeping in,
Enveloping your tall, angular figure

-JW