My legs have shortened,
as my breath and the grass. 

I can close my eyes and see the trees,
the pathways in between the trunks;
I can smell the water in the river bank,
the cold metal links on the bridge. 

I can not hide.
I cannot.

There is a shimmering hope
in between the shades -
it shines through, then goes opaque,
like lazy foliage through a window on a breezy Summer afternoon.

I can't run -
the truth is
I can't.

The pain has caught up with me,
and my legs are not long enough.

I cannot run away.
I cannot let it go under my feet as I gain distance.
I cannot run this over.

I cannot feel the sun.