her feet hardly
touch the ground
when she runs. she
is meringue in
tennis shoes, with
her crimson hair
waving like soft
weeds below
the sea. she is
wound tight in
black, with her
large dog beside
her. and she says,
without a huff,
without missing
a stride or beat,
i can't stop to
talk, i'm sorry.
and i say. i know.
i know. we've been
down this path
before.
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