T he indigo amphora of night slowly fills with light.
Its sapphire body dawns through cobalt,
to lapis, before the sky flattens into an azure
plate that the sparrows crawl on like ants.
My favorite marble had the depth of predawn
sky, from oceanic core to atmospheric edge
of teal. The size of my eye, brought near,
trails of tiny bubbles were revealed—yet
smaller universes spun within its cool vista.
We children gambled with our marbles:
Cats-eyes,     irised yellow and red,         chased
one      another      through
                         the      asphalt       schoolyard.
“Crystals” were the special prizes: clear like an ice
sphere, green or blue like a planet, a rare garnet red.
They would be the last out of a pocket and                     gone.
I never played my blue marble, only took it out
to look—instant azure joy.
But as gamblers do, we played until all were
cleaned out. All except for the bullies who could end
any game by shouting, pockets full, and storming away.
One day, my eyes told them I held back. So
“Play it, play it!” they yelled
                                                                  ...  ..       .            .          .                    .                    .
Thus was      my blue marble 
lost
           in a concrete and gravel     schoolyard     game.