Stepping off the curb into a chasm
of quiet perseverance before late
parts of this day turn into a cold night,
she bears a well-defined and soft subtle
introduction of an eyed intercourse
of a deep soul and a reachable mind.
* * *
And the unrehearsed anticipation,
the series of strides and movement of legs
vocalize moods, as she passes them by,
and her and her and him and back to him.
* * *
One step becomes a push and a rush of
left, right
left,right
left, slow right,
slow left.
Unknotted kite strings rising to the sun
one word for the journal, and he's staring.
One mile.
She's freeing a spirit into her scenes
of two racers with a fast pumping heart
making a way to reach the other side.
Too willing to lose control for that one
brief encounter of might starts chasing her
to a steadfast pace and in slow motion,
he pauses again as he rounds the curb.
* * *
And watches her pushing from here to there.
He traces her form and the soles of feet
press against soft tar before daylight fades.
Kites were at their utmost heights and the loud
cement trucks couldn't fill the distraction
in this half-hearted last lap as her heels
began to rise from the pitted pavement
latching to the shoulder of his shadow.
© Cathy Coombs
About the Creator
Cathy Coombs
Earning a B.A. in English Journalism & Creative Writing confirmed my love of literature. I believe every living experience is tied to language, and words influence us all.
Website. Write, self-publish, and self-market. Go.
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