The Great American Pastime
“Find your way home,” the old man said
as I ran for first base.
The introduction
of doubt.
Diamonds, once carbon-based and predictable
now twisted into question marks.
A path once known becomes a shadowed wood
with just four words.
Where is this place of which you speak?
An end to motion, absolute zero.
The movement of eyes without subtext.
Was I promised nothing?
This sprint is now a dance.
