There were mountains to move.
Mountains to be moved.
Stop signs to be heeded
as lighthearted suggestions
in blank and black moments of red rover
when breaths hung for the catching and
games played on televisions to distract us
from ourselves and the consciousness of
heel toeing through turns
with apexes built upon apexes and
elbows deep in empty glassware.
There were records to be set
and broken on the hill climb
to erasure and, in an effort
to lay down more honesty
than I've been worth, of late,
it's hard to believe
competition would be found
so easily
less than three rounds
into the pursuit of
a podium finish.
I don't believe we've met,
but I do believe
we've known each other
for quite some time, friend.
