Delivery
The pitcher stands on the slight rise
Of earth, his arms dangling
Contemplating
His craft.
Satisfied, he gathers his arms
In the familiar deceptive fashion
The small white ball emerging from
This chaos
To hang in the space between
Pitcher and batter and catcher.
The outcomes are myriad
And only time will deliver
One of them
And as the moment stays
We wait.
It is all any of us
Can do.
Dan Verner
April 18, 2019
Biscuit City 