After a while she got used to the
below the breastbone.
After all, it’s a space seldom filled with
love to dance there,
playing teasing games with
the longing that takes up residence
in such places.
Whenever she got
it always came with growing certainty
that it would all amount to
Then she would run,
anywhere brutal enough to shake off,
brush off her demons.
She always fell, winded, troubles intact.
outlasts even the most fit
and how can you run away from yourself,
Just this once, she hopes, there will be
in the end,
to take roost in that empty place,
maybe, sparkling and gloriously flame-red,
or even a peacock,
strutting cosmic blues and greens-
but she doesn’t believe it.
March 20, 2008