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.