Finish Lines
Admittedly arbitrary, they show us
if we’ve arrived or failed to
agreed on by entering a race.
Don’t recall signing up?
With each breath we draw we re-up
hearing it is not to the swift
we know we aren’t.
We’re a tortoise with a limp
carrying vast silence light as fog
erasing our footsteps
our thoughts, comments
each whole, complete, finished
The Dog Star 
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