This morning when I woke up

The sky was dark and the ground

Formless and glowing as if parts of it

Might rise and float away like clouds

Or pale ghosts, but quietly.

I had been running a race

On a track that stretched off

Into distance without end. Time

Mattered not at all. Leaders stood

By confident the winner would have

Already been decided from among

Those present. Or who would soon,

Or had already left.

The only thing that will not change

Is being haunted by the past. Summer

Nights spent shivering in blankets marking

Time until the sky grew light enough to rise

And start a fire, watching smoke curl up

Between the leafy branches of the trees.

Feeling warmth begin to grow.