Late start, earned—
     high miles yesterday…

     hiking and a little high-altitude IPA,
      then a plane that rocked me to sleep,
        then baseball at Oscar’s until two,

        a marathon night
        where even the innings
        kept asking for one more.

Today opens wide—
      slates stacked,
     screens warming,

     and me: promising the day to behave.

Your Jackets host West Virginia,
        5-0 hangs like a banner
       the sky’s ready to raise.

I’ll watch the field *and* the crowd,
     hoping the camera finds your smile
     the way I do—

     quietly, on purpose.

Between whistles—
        shopping with Ava,
        letting a Saturday choose outfits
        and a little future.

Later, we’ll tinker her site
       until the pixels read
       like a voice you’ve known forever.

Tonight the bracket tightens—
        Cubs-Brewers to settle a lane,
        my Dodgers waiting with blue patience,

        the other side stitching sea to sky.

I don’t need a crystal ball,
  just a seat with room for luck.

Through it all,
        I’ll keep our thread small.

A thumbed hello,
  that song I didn’t wanna lose,
  some picture that means more than it shows…

  and a pocket-sized cheer I won’t say out loud.

You have a BFF beside you
    and a stadium around you.

I’ll be here, soft in the margins,
     letting your day be your day.

Small threads,
      big day—
              that’s the math I’m carrying:
                      give the moments air,
             give our thread a light touch,
                and trust that the evening
      will bring us back to the same story…

      told from two rooms
      that never forgot how to meet in the middle.