I am no Atlanta to pause to pick up your golden apples
But keep running, fleet of foot
My race is not to win but to get away
From the castle we built
Out of a pack of cards
that you toppled with just the slightest pressure -
the tip of your finger
A card was our promises to each other
A card was our lovemaking
A card was my standing at the doorstep waving goodbye
till you were out of sight
A card was us looking with wonder at our first-born
A card was my packing your lunch box and
running towards you with forgotten keys
A card was my flinging myself into your arms
in sorrow
A card was our children and I
waiting to show you the decorations up for Christmas
A card was an Era of Oneness...
But now
My fleet feet never cease to run
Never pausing to look back -
On the arid desert I leave behind -
In a race where the winner loses all.
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