Sometimes I run on grass to feel
the end of every story. I imagine
myself crawling on a sandy surface.
Breaks to plan steps or get a meal.
The schedule is without a finishing sin,
the road without a mark and helpless.

Are you waiting or
are you making efforts.

Are you running, is what I ask myself.
Motionless for more than hours I would reject,
even if you and I, we would connect.

I'll treat you as deserved when movement is observed.
I'll kiss you if you make your path.
Likewise you surround me as in lonely matter.
If I keep running you can call that my wrath.