457 Readings

16, 26

Careful. You're still sitting on that rock.
The sky's a hole in the ceiling. How agonizing,
you can't disappear in the trees for long. It's a race, remember?
Footfall on the forest bed, a face behind swells red–
And you're off, setting leaves to dirt.
It's not a race if you need to be chased.
No one chases you now.
Posted 08/29/12
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