Surfing the needle, gripping my toes
around the steel javelin, flowing through the eye
of Anacortes, Iron River, Anna Maria Island and
the winter, arm extended, hand
outreached, attempting to grasp the tail
of a racing god, who is not fleeing but is
unending in its rove.
The god never tires, but I tire, so I lasso
my hair about its neck, and sleep while I am bounced
along the dreams, the god unerring,
dragging me, my hopes tethered
to the holy unrelenting.
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