going for the gold

exotic convergence under an eastern precipice
weighted by centuries and customs…
breeding expectation beneath
a subliminal sun
where a fractured finish glazes
as midnight spills across the surface…

curious spectators
watch an unfamiliar drama unfold
as worthy opponents combat across a net…
measuring distance in meters,
in repetitive mirrored strokes…
as a ball hits the strings…

back and forth
within painted lines
four men rush corner to corner
impaling with brisk strokes
and severe angles…
daring each other to rush the net…

harmony and heroics propel the Swiss forward,
puppet strings pulling one ahead,
one back in sync with the timing of the delivery…
as they glide and touch, moving in perfect rhythm…

understanding, sensing and adjusting
to the bend, twists and turns
of the Swedes taunting them,
desiring to impede their quest for gold…

in the artificial glow
refracted through moist air,
the exquisite Swiss spins the ball
high, following its path above his head…
waiting, then smashing it at its apex…

it skims the net and skids away
from the tall Swede who blinks and nods…
prompting the Swiss duo to
dance and embrace…
collapsing to the floor of the court…

victorious,
they mime the heat of the contest
in a ritual of sharing fire,
passion in the denouement…
the seizing of the gold…

Olympics 2008...jaa