We plot until the sun
is too high to ignore
and work is unavoidable.
As I run through the city streets,
I continue to dream.
I allow myself secret,
poisonous,
fantasies:
lining up at the starting line.
winning the first race.
I indulge myself,
knowing that daydreams
may be as close as I get.
I will enjoy them while
they remain unlikely possibilities.
Even though the sky soars through my veins,
I do love to run.
I like the rhythm,
the steadiness,
the beat of my feet
as they hit the ground,
the exhaustion.
Most of all the exhaustion.
Since my mother's death, I only
sleep on days I've spent running.
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