poems & pictures
On feet of dreams the runner’s headed to land’s end.
She knows the horizon keeps receding while she’s running,
but she runs as though it didn’t.
A finish line is not her aim.
Along the pathway time’s not measured in seconds but in paces,
in fact a runner’s time and space commingle.
The run will come to a stop where dreams dissolve,
and dreams don’t hinge on time or space
but on the run itself.
Land’s end is but a moving sight, the pathway a circle.
First published in Adelaide (USA)