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.