The Golfer
Poem by Larry D. Thomas • Photo by Matthew Chong

for Bob Spears
Daily at daybreak, even in the rain,
I see him in the distance
sinking his tee into the teeing ground,
centering his white ball
snugly in the circle of its cup,
clutching the grip of his driver,
and merging his body and mind
for the drive, a solitary man, who,
with but his clubs, tees, balls and game
of power, grace and touch so precise
he calculates the breath of crows,
plays the farthest reaches of his soul.

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