I Run, Sometimes, at Night.

Scuffed shoes, light as smoke on dirty feet. Alone with my reflections And the moon And the thump, thwap, scrape Of soles on ground up asphalt. Nothing to see, here in drifting heat Just lips worn of expression, Chapped, gasping, Silent, as scuffed shoes Grind frantic breath to asphalt Nothing to hear, as stars sigh to their seats But cries of stopped confessions Of fear, Of tears, Safely extinguished. Ashes layer, soft as breath, on ancient asphalt. Behind me the cool, soft arms of silence take And hide the stains. Nothing, Not words Or stars Or song Will find tonight’s grim smoke Ground into the asphalt.