I asked her to run with me this morning and she declined,
politely, as one who is at pains to not cause pain
​and who would join me if it were not the last of her worst options.

My tracks in the wet, pockmarked sand ran beside those of
a younger girl, of maybe nine or ten, barefoot, of long, loose
gait, probably eating her cereal by now in one of the rented

houses, her father sipping his coffee beside her no prouder,
but happier, nonetheless, than this huffing bag of heavy
bones, straining to keep pace with a life I couldn't catch.