Knee And Stars

exuberance,
drunken joy,
running through unfamiliar yards
in the dark.

two posts,
and chicken wire knee-high strung
between them, part
of a forgotten fence
around a disused flowerbed
by the back hedge.

I fly —

a complete front flip!
couldn’t have done that if I had tried —

and now my back’s screaming insults,
left knee’s bent, left leg under me,
no breath in my jarred chest,
lying where I fell,
realizing no one saw the stupendous
if inadvertent feat I’d just pulled.

look.
stars.
no moon,
stars.
all of the stars at once.
it hurts, but…
stars.

worth it
still, thirty years later,
when my left knee chooses
to remind me
of the incident
as if it had just happened,
as if I’d never recovered.