When I've been on my own
in a park where the sun is finally
starting to warm my arms
and I  can see the veil of grief-chill
pulling back, about to reveal her
cities and her sidewalks
built in dirt

And I'm miles into the run
   of things
and I'm even further into my own head:

I'm sure that there are other runners
out there
who wish they
       could also
run from the dead.