The black stitched cherry

being tossed down the pitch

is turned away for the deft quick single,

the sly look of happiness

on the batsman face as he outwits the wicket

keeper is all too evident

through my binoculars, purchased by my wife

for days such as this,

not a ship sailing on the edge of the horizon,

but to witness the glorious catch

of the fielder on the other side of the ropes, down

in the Noir of Third Man, one inch from a six.