I lob my serve
You see it slide
I hang a curve
You guess outside
In shallow space
Round turns to flat
Depth has erased
Your turn at-bat
I pitch the truth
Into your mind
But only one eye
There I find.
I pitch
"And the daughter of Zion is left as a cottage in a vineyard, as a lodge in a garden of cucumbers, as a besieged city." – Isaiah 1:8
Cucumber Lodge 