You fumbled the ball you once threaded through nets just to scratch an itch Your winning streak still winks gold at Gibraltar hands once slick with craft, fuming with viscous triumph Like a blind samurai moving through threats, like an electric eel diving Maelmos deep, living to tell the tale while blasting each voltmeter that dared take a peek at how you mastered the battleground before your opponents even knew the road that led to you Now you stumble after what you once soloed. A flimsy attempt to corral the rebelling chattel became your first Pyrrhic dance Face planted, you watch it drift away from the court you once claimed as your walk-in wardrobe It glides down the hill far from your reach. With time your streak dissolves After all, height answers to gravity