Sometimes in the morning practice,
Anglo men in wool and leather lace;
In the mask the ghosts and spirits
Took the field and ran the base.
Then I saw those buried batsmen
In the places of my teammates
Slide across the blocked home plate.

I see beauty in the spinning
Two-seam motion to my glove.
I see glory in the winning,
From the fans I feel the love,
Hear the cheering in my chest,
Shielded like a knight's could be,
Battling in a tournament for me.

If the lights go dark and the stands fall down,
If the vendors call to corpses "Get your beer,"
If I die without a sniff of Cooperstown,
I'll remember time spent here
In the throat of all the Bronx
Where the pinstripes touched my skin,
Buried bronze-faced monuments my kin.