The plate winks, waiting for me to step up, 
  hit a home run into afternoon sun.
I am ready too, willing to swing the bat
  with my entire self, every cell in agreement.
The ground breathes. Trees wave in the wind.
  The crowd is silent and raucous. I know nothing
at the winking plate.  I am the bat.
  I am the ball.  I am the body.  
And I am going to hit a home run
  into afternoon sun.