Here we are
standing on two sides
of the same dirt road.
Gonna take a day
to wash off all the grit
I get when I see you.
How did this become
my daily dread?

I fear I’ll never know
what it means
to live without.

Let’s walk to the stop sign.
Perhaps a different direction
is all we need.
Perhaps a little luck
is all it takes
to erase this mundane.

(Poem 7 of Half Marathon)