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DEATH…
Catch me if you can.
I know the shortcuts through my neighborhood’s creepy dark basements like the back of my hand.
I know where every hole in the golf course fence can be found.
It wasn’t so easy to bring me down in our football games on Gale Place.
I ran pretty fast from the cops in 1968 and never got clubbed.
Catch me if you can.
In my final sleep I will be running, heart pounding.
I once ran around Fresh Pond five times.
I biked around Lake Champlain.
I swam sixty laps in camp.
Catch me if you can.
In my dreams you never grab me.
I will awaken just in time.
My mother will rush to the bed to comfort me.
My grandmother will wipe the brow of her beloved “binty-nu”
Catch me if you can.
I will run through fields of thistle, like I did that day in Putnam Valley.
Hop from rock-to-rock down those crazy steep Adirondacks trails.
Grab random roots to pull me to the peak.
Wake to find a crack of morning light aglow beyond the summit.
Catch me if you can.
January 5, 2015