Ground Rules

The rain has turned the grass to silt.

The white lines bleed into the mud,

an architecture loosely built

now sinking in a muddy flood.

I walk across the center field,

where boundaries were neat and dry.

The order had to finally yield

to water falling from the sky.

A smear of lime stays on my boot,

a chalky ghost of what was fair.

The grass is pulling at the root

and logic isn't really there.