seeking head starts—
yet every dawn is up
before me
seeking head starts—
yet every dawn is up
before me
some days, sun seems
a restless eye—its regard
diffident
thinking of other
times when necessity
shouted instructions
the many gateways—
minutes and hours await
storming
fording streets to reach
trees’ shade, but sometimes hard sun
allows no respite
from pewter clouds
comes silver rain, then—half-way
through—gold sun
a leash and
collar encircling
the hydrant
an oval—not
sharp curves but long stretches
awaiting
stepping into
craters never meant—and left
nonetheless
pondering which
act feels more intention
than gesture