Bullet

We see the shadow of a bumblebee.
Fat dot skating the basketball court
where its skins versus shirts. Benched,

a girl flirts with a boy diamonded
with sweat at the three-point line.
The orange ball’s pitched his way,

fingers spread as if pushing a glass door.
Around her we see the blue air
blushes when she smiles. Shadow

of the basketball slides to the shadow
of the boy, charcoaling the court.
Curbside, a lustrous car rolls,

a tinted window whines down.
The sky around the girl vibrates red.
The boy shoots and we see the shadow

of the ball on the pavement gliding
toward the circle of the hoop.
We see the revolver but not what zips

out of its barrel, not the broken dash
of its shadow. Another black stitch
pulled from the world’s seams.