When Marco Tardelli scored
In the final
Against the Germans in 82
It was like something
Not seen before
Or since too

A kinetic miracle displayed
And I'm not talking about the goal
More to do with miracles
And the nature of the soul

Something extraordinary happened
And it's still frozen in time
Where one mans essence
And the universe entwined

It is the celebration
That still lives in the air
A being stripped
Of all presence
And dull earthly care

He went off like a rocket
To whence he knew not where
He sprinted to the bench
Then hither
Then there

His team mates couldn't catch him
And they really tried
Old Marco carried off
On the crest
Of some unstoppable tide

Eyes bulging
Tears streaming
Screaming
GOL!
GOL!
GOL!
His arms jalisticating
As the pitch he fast roamed

Of course he gets asked about that night
By all that he meets
Says he has no memory
Of when his feet were so fleet

Except

His entire life flashed before his eyes
He said he felt just like someone
Who knows they will die
Maybe his pineal flooded his skull
Perhaps the frequency of creation
Stirred his hot chemicals

A true uniqueness
Of joy unbounded

What were the odds?

In a true Bukowskism

He was perfect laughter

He was alone with the gods.