I had a dream yesterday.
I dreamed of Jason Heyward.
In my dream, his swing was syrupy-sweet.
And the baseballs flew off his liquorice-black lumber.
It was a day game in my dream.
They caromed like specks across the cloud-pocked blue sky.
And into our arms, beyond the outfield.
Heyward showed no fear.
He waited patiently for his pitch
but never too long
and he yanked inside fastballs
down the line.
He smiled, big and clear
as he took the bat from Chipper
who ascended into the sky.
O Dr. King,
I pray to you
Make this dream come true.
Make Jason Heyward not make us sad.
