When I stood in the silence of centerfield
I stood there alone.
With nothing but grass and a sky taller
than heaven between
me and the ball.
The ball that the pitcher turned in his hand
like he was kneading dough into a perfect circle.
Slapping it into his glove and rubbing it for luck.
When I stood in the silence of centerfield
twenty feet from the fence and disaster with the batter
so close I could smell his breath.
Kicking the dirt and digging in.
Here it comes he seemed to say.
Get ready, here it comes.