Long Run
The consequence of
misstep unintended --
a favorite toy
crushed beneath
a careless shoe --
broke her.
She wept, all the while
willing her eyes not to betray
her secret.
Their slow drip
(plop pause plop pause)
like little footfalls over shards
of glass, crunching and cutting,
as she ran from the scene.
The footfalls forcing a rhythm
(measured meditation)
with breath after
eventual breath.
This is how she moves on;
just keeps running,
over and over until the
exhaustion has fulfilled
its purpose:
the quieted mind...
This poem.
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