What are the stakes as explorers play a strange sport on an alien world?
 

A gauze drape folds over the white ridges of this outworld planet Our lungs are heavy, as we stretch our limbs, preparing to play its ancient sport Ruzakuin-- designed for their gangly bodies A fair fight--five against five? They serve--launching spheres toward us We strain to catch bullets from rekuniu--movable platforms Thick hands mangle fine controls Our balance is uncertain We are babes snatching at butterflies Their brilliant orbs plummet without courtesy of reception We've lost the day--something else too? The elevators descend to the cheers of their children They shout, "Ruzakuin" Still we aren't sure The young ones bound toward us, waving small presents They say, "Ruzakuin"-- their sport, their "welcome"