Oscar’s neon over orange grins—
        a bowl of candy stationed by my elbow,
        no mask, just October’s easy mischief

        and a game I’m not ready to give up on.

Day ran its errands—
    new shower head,
    cavalry of cleaning supplies,
    eyebrow trimmer restoring the perimeter.

Since the last blue fell,
      I’ve been a little quieter—
      you there with porch-light glow
      and your couch grandstand,

      me here with ice and innings and candy wrappers.

A text, a picture,
  a promise folded small—
  “together apart” still counts,
  and we’ve proved it enough to stop explaining.

Tonight, hope wears a pumpkin grin.

I ask for “one back.”

We set the table like it’s any other night,
   but everything in me is dressed as belief.

(less than a week—)

I’m counting it in fun-size bars
    and commercial breaks,
    each pause a place to imagine your shoulders,
    each pitch a chance to practice saying yes again.

If blue decides to climb out of the hole,
   I’ll cheer without spending what’s left of my voice,
   trade volume for proximity…

   mouth-to-ear,
   soft thunder.

I’ll take any sign tonight—
     a seeing-eye single,
     a kind bounce,
     anything that says the universe remembers our names.

I’d trade ten Novembers
    for one porch-light kiss
    and a seventh-inning smile
    that believes with me.

Until then: pumpkins on the bar,
     pennants in the mind’s eye,
             me here, you there,
      saving one chair for luck—

     …so when the door opens,
     our little room inside the roar is already waiting.