Arriving at the starting line
I think of the marathon to come—
somewhere there’s a man
with a gun and a timer.
Somewhere there’s another line
I hope to cross.
Somewhere there’s a woman
who doesn’t know there is a race.
She knows only that the juncos
have come, and if she is still enough
she can see their white tail feathers
flashing in flight.
Haunting and beautiful. I’m taking this one for my own (to love, not to steal!) Thank you.
steal away, poetry sister!