that race we born into

& the chance of
glistening
metal & rock

took a long time to
grow between a
youthful hand
of limp fingers

stiffening toward
the precious oily
forehead we
came before
understanding things

around the frills
of lying pop
songs we joined

from apart with our
long lives inside—

while the race grew
close around the
trim exhibition
of her hand
& veils we crowded
first at happily
then more drunkenly ;

at last ,sunday football
from friends to
lonesome as whistles
come time
& all gaps exposed fully—

remaining, not running,
but upright I pull
toward the night
running out my eyes
& oft frozen in fear.