On the rock-hard, turfless earth in the Old City
of Jerusalem, a goalie takes shots.
Diving, stretching, fisting, catching, this pendulum
athlete moves from side to side, blocking shots,
lengthening his reach, cutting the angle
during this ballet centered in this theater of empty space.
From my stands on the wall, I cheer this guardian
believing he will one day play for his national team.
Timing is everything, for the State of Palestine
shrinks to the size of a goalie box in a grid square
of ruins where a goalie’s peripheral vision
is gouged out by a building site.