Bowling

From one hilltop to the next,
in a gimpse, an instant,
I viewed the vision of elegance,
the stepping form of a girl or woman,
wearing a yellow sundress,
the grace of a dance move,
lunging on one leg,
an arm extended behind her,
her fingers in the heavy black ball
which swings its downward arch,
disturbing the tops of the late summer
grass, bristled and golden,
her ankles down amid the
stems, heads, and petals of
black-eyed Susies,
to the full final end of her movement,
pens thundering from the hollow.
The soft breeze on the flowing golden field,
on and around the hard sphere,
causing her sundress to flit,
bowling through the mountains
and through my mind.

by Raymond Neely