it is dark and i am warm in bed
and i can hear the cat’s water dish
splashing away downstairs
because it’s like a fountain
and we are those people.

the sounds become a baseball game
with a 1950s feel;
there is an announcer,
there is a crowd,
and i am there in New York –
Mickey Mantle and the Yankees
dismantling those bums from Boston,
and i can almost hear the score
above the ever-present roar
if i could get just a little closer.