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The sun has left but the night refuses darkness
White beams turn the grass into a stage
Shadows stretch like players warming up
Before the real performance begins
Security checks and turnstile clicks
The ritual of entry, ticket in hand
Finding your seat by numbered rows
Like returning to a pew in a wooden church
The teams emerge and the noise ignites
A wall of sound that physical and warm
Flares burn in the away end like votives
Painting faces in red and gold and blue
A young referee steadies his breathing
His first appointment at this level
The ball at his feet feels different tonight
Heavier with the weight of watching eyes
Ninety minutes will pass like a dream
Some moments crystalline, others blurred
Goals will be scored and chances squandered
Tactics will shift like weather fronts
When it is over and the seats are empty
Only the groundsman remains with his paint
Marking lines for tomorrow's match
Because the beautiful game never truly sleeps
