like pines, down my temples,
and i’d always said that if i
didn’t learn to make it past the
finish line
i wouldn’t even break the
starting line,
poison my calves two thirds
through the marathon, call it
quits down the snow paved roads
watching your sweater faint into
the rain, watching your scarf trail
after your legs, attempting to
wrap around your shadow’s neck;
a noose, a noose, a noose,
dangling off of drifting snowflakes.
each one,
a death.

like pines, down my temples,
i’ve forgotten.
i know i won’t cross the finish line
so two inches away from the
checkered flag,
i turn and walk back,
corpses hailing from the sky.