A/N: kind of about my original baseball character, michael.

dreaming of october

he wears the infield dirt on his
sleeve
like it is his heart
maybe it is his heart --
it is what keeps him alive.

108 stitches are sewn into his soul --
imprinted in his DNA
(108 beads on a rosary // 108 stitches in a baseball)
this game is his god --
this game is his religion --
is him

at night
he dreams
and when he dreams
he dreams of october.
scalded line drives scorch
across the backs of his eyelids,
the stadium ghosts whisper
promises in his ear
of octobers,
of champagne and rings,
of sparkling diamonds,
of octobers so close he can taste them on his lips.
the stadium ghosts whisper in his ear
"wait till next year,
wait till next year."

(on a clear night // you can almost see october)