it is a white ball against
a sky so blue it hurts your eyes
it is thick grass, so perfectly green
day fading into evening
as cheers fade to silence
soft moonlight on an empty park
full of promise with morning light
crack of a bat, the graceful arc
flies over the wall
little white thing, focus of all eyes.
it is breathing hard in soft evening air
running the perfect white line
to reach a base
unending promise, untapped possibility
beyond baseball, beyond a game
it is beauty.
1 comment:
Lucky dog.
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