(found by the shoes near the crack in the tarmac)
For Streets –
I run, and I don’t run for fun.
I run for fury. Never worry. Run.
Done. Words that rhyme and the curse of time and all there is to do is run.
Away, and don’t we all just have to run away sometimes? Sometimes all we can possibly do – possibly, possibly do, do possibly ever do – is tie the sneakers, find the path and stop. Start.
She ran. He ran. We ran. Now there is only to run. Run.
Pounding pavement, crunching grass, raspy breath comes through it desperate gasps. One.
Wishing, screaming for the sky – but only beheld in glimmers against the eye. Two.
People passing, passing people. Buildings going, stone going, brick and glass going. Three.
Milk and honey. Loving hugs. Pots of gold at the end of the rainbow. Just to get to the end of the rainbow. Four.
Keep counting. Count the steps.