Abandon

Never abandon
mid-course
So lonely
to lay down your bike
on the road’s verge

You said I was your
cigarette, your
crack cocaine
Liar

I’ll shed more sweat
and tears and blowouts
along the route

I’ll relish every stroke
of the pedal
while you smoke
in the back
in the team car, alone

Here’s me, racing
among the peloton
not waiting for you
who abandoned

Things That Make Me Run

Sweat-proof Hawaiian Tropic in the teal bottle with a dark brown cap

Spring leaves are a singular shade of green

That crow’s ceaseless scolding

My thigh arcing in a perfect curve, which is gorgeous

Sunshine yellow Z06 Supercharge Corvette

My ass feels like it’s chasing me
Rafael Nadal’s ass, which is gorgeous

Sometimes I see a fog-fall across the river

The best image at the right time

Storm-churned earth

Trail running shoes caked in mud

Just-right sunburn

Cold whisper of wet grass on my shins

Cold whisper of wet fern on my thighs

Cold whisper of foggy breeze in my ear

My body gets beyond tired

Serena Williams’s entire body, which is gorgeous

An hour of meditation breathing

My cat squeezes her eyes tight in the sun

Sleeping dogs

Scent of freshly ground coffee

Sand on the laundry room floor

Warm, dry feet

A full clothes line

Sometimes We Forget

Our maple tree has leafed out, excited,
anticipating spring’s warmth.

A café au lait cools
beside me on the porch
in its blue and white cup.

The chill beverage says
to the tree
it’s too soon. Too cold.

You’re sapping the strength
from her bones, replies the tree,
flexing her branches
which are green and springy.

I disagree. My bones aren’t old,
I don’t feel cold.

I remember planting this tree,
digging in the earth, thinking
how some day I’ll sit here,
watch it leaf out.

This coffee; I don’t know this cup,
who put it here?

HOW TO CLIMB THE DUOMO

di Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore

Take your first step on the well-worn stone

Keep your hands and thoughts to yourself

Groans from 300 years of repeated steps
drown you
between walls glazed in unclean sweat

Never look down
nor lock onto the gross tourist bottom
before you

Though you puff moist air and
feel mushrooms grow
keep moving

One foot in front of the other
the bottom quivers before you

You’ll see gaps in the wall
where daylight squints at you

Keep your eyes open in the shard of light
lest your stomach heave
remind you of
this morning’s creamy cappuchino
flaky pastry
little table on the square

A city’s a creature of small habits
habits of crushed dreams
repeated returns
fear of acceptance
success
rejection
failure
swallow these back down and climb on

At last you burst from the corkscrew of interiority
far from the bottom

Now fling out your arms
let your thoughts be carried away on the breeze
over the rooftops see the vastness of your world