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Sport 39: 2011
viii
viii
Hommage:
as if you’d have tossed it
a second word, as if privacy wasn’t
bunkered in each public stanza,
as if nailing as good as a century
with the scorer’s crest
wasn’t tribute drilled
from the only well that pays:
as if Self
spelled out in increasing type
hadn’t pressed you as surrogate Adam,
the one world launched to a tongue’s fathom,
on cue each calling
necessary once named.