September 7, 2016

I could never sleep
On those sorts of nights
Where the streets are entirely silent
And the only things that accompany me
Are the chirping insects and the
Swinging air

I’d go outside,
Pajamas and loafers
Dream holder in hand
And make my way towards
The grandstand

My eyes survey the field
The green grass that is dampened
Under the moonlights grasp.
The pitcher's mound
A gravel road
To a familiar home

I grabbed my glove
And put it under my head
I threw the ball
And watched its fall
Hitting my calloused hand with a slap

I closed my eyes
And dreamed the sweetest of dreams.

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