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.