Running

 

I flow like water.

Passing from one faint circle of light to the next,

My breath smooth, my legs moving rhythmically.

Across one darkened neighborhood and then another,

Street cleaners whisk past, big machines with their circular brushes whooshing.

Past houses where families sleep.

Dogs barking in back yards.

Cars in driveways wrapped in dew.

Pink air colors the houses, trees, lawns.

I run until my darkness is washed from my flesh,

Gone with the rising sun.

I run until there is no desire, no memory, nothing but the movement of muscle.

The edge of the sun appears at the horizon

Like a red-hot knife.

Published by

Denele Campbell

Denele Campbell had her eye on writing from childhood. While pursuing her undergraduate degree in English, she filled her electives with poetry and fiction writing classes. Life then did what it does to everyone, tumbling through love, marriage and children, household and career, pets and pursuits, leaving Campbell to fit in bits and pieces of authorship. Newspaper columns, articles on local history, biographical profiles and small evocative essays kept her writing passion on a low simmer until retirement. Now devoting her full-time energy to writing, Campbell is plowing through thick files of ideas and half-finished manuscripts to produce fiction and non-fiction works.

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