Today was distance—
      you with Coal,
      me with laundry,

      and a friend who needed a shoulder.

Cardinals fell to the Yankees,
   nothing to celebrate there,
       just another box score
     filed away with the rest.

But then—
    your late-night texts,
    the kind I fold away for safe keeping—
                                    sweet,
                               vulnerable,
              things I can’t say outright,
                       only circle around,
                             only hint at.

That’s the win, Mari.

Not in the standings,

Not in the box score—
    right here,
          off
             the
                scoreboard.