Who is this creature of skill and talent

just shooting hoops in the back yard?

Hours & days & years of practice, living it

so that the tools have a scent that permeates dream,

finding the dance in that chaotic rhythm

of rubber on the court, whisper of net,

slight ring of rim when the ball swishes.

The opponent’s eyes adjusting with recognition

that the moment of truth happened

a split second before he saw it.

And the silence mid arc

as the country awaits

the success of its heroes.

I was not brought up with basketball,

for me it was ministers, therapists, teachers

I was assimilating ideas such as the historical Jesus,

individuation and unconditional love when still in diapers.

And maybe this is why I know

that when the steely eyed warrior summoned the grace

to project his will into that previously empty moment,

his compatriots rallied in synergistic formation

that the gift coursing in them came from all of us.

Tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of devotees

regardless of color, creed or modus operandi

laying down our faith on the alter of

one beautiful moment.

In a very practical sense

this is what is called a miracle

Enough of us getting up every day,

walking through the regular transformations of our lives

with all the diversity of our training and beliefs

unified in a vision.

Even the rival hoping for some great thing.

Together we have brought it to fruition

fierce competitor, fan, through the lens of staff

coaches, team and an avatar reaching in to full bloom

it is done.

And that spark of creation kindled in each of us

where maybe it has been dormant for much too long

now invites direction.

— Peter A. Wright lives in Lawrence.