I snatch up momentum from the streetlights.
You need my assurance. I can't give it.
Your friendship vexes me. On the horizon,
Orion lies on its side, an envelope
unopened. I must rework my words;
after my run we have to 'talk.' Turning
away from truth. I've tried—you don't want that.

I want to sweat out emotion. Airplanes
blink above me, as high and expensive
as reason. I’m running, but not away—
or back—my mind’s running around our loop—
identical condos, regulated
footsteps, vibrations undoing my laces;
I can’t get anywhere.

-- Maria S. Picone