Run when you can, when you must. But the sun
just behind a knoll as you speed up, that rust
rolling over a passing hill, welcoming you, holds
heart and lungs in right time. Where you start
when you love, blind knowing, where you begin,
halo backlighting a face, lips miming a ‘hello’
read like an manuscript, each curl and thread,
line and crease holds your breath, in right time.
In right time, when the elevator closes, when
Metro leaves, you curse your life and show
up late, but stop to hold a door, then close-up,
cheek bones you’ll wake to pass with a streak
from behind. All slows. Halfway. Spent. Sun
rings your vision. You’re headed home. Bring
concrete into focus. Catch the clap-clap of feet.
Find behind that door, everything. In right time.