Tinkers to Evers to what’s the chance
a hundred seasons could come and go
so fast you wouldn’t celebrate even one

So they decided to number the days
God gave you. Line them up and out
to a finite end, give or take the consequential
few. Days that could have swum by at
something close to the speed of terror.

she slipped away
past the cat watching the night
down the old wood stairs
and gone

He seems to disappear into the land
between the infield and the sweep of the grass.
Even the giant old trooper at the plate
has to look three times to find him.