It is the only one that is fair to me. I am the only one that is fair to it. Six loose bolts, wearing at the ends and staying strong like me. Six who could have let go a while ago but haven’t. One broken-in basket abused by many. From Heaven I think it is, but many think it is old and don’t appreciate it.

Its give is secret. It sits calmly, the net staring at the floor. It gets shot on and it gets hung on and pulls the shooter into a trance with its kind bounces and kisses the nylon with glossy glass and never stops its job. This is how it works.

Let one forget his reason for being, it gives like a trampoline, each with its bolts clinging to the other. Bounce, bounce, swish, the basket says when I sleep. It teases.

When I am too sad and too weak to keep shooting, when I am in the lane with giants everywhere, I look for the basket. When there is nothing left to do in this world. One broken- in basket that is abused despite its reliability. One who invites and never forgets to invite. One basket whose only way is to be and be.