the third base coach
touched his nose twice
& wiggled his ears––
you know what that
means––
you’re free to
hit away––
the fate of the game
is in your brawny
hands––
you feel blood
rushing into every living
muscle & cell of
your body––
your cleats are clenched
to the center of the
earth––
your senses are
surging––
straining nerves telegraph the
heft of the bat
to the mid-point of
the brain––
your eyes track
the shadows of the
sun wafting across
the stadium––
& touch the faces
of every fan in the
bleachers––
your heart can hear
their prayers––
the pitcher squints
through the left eye
of eternity & his sweaty
fingers massage
the ball––
the wind has shifted to
left center––
an act of god––
the universe knows
for certain,
nothing
matters––
the windup––
the pitch––
& you whack
the longest shot
in the history
of the world