Nothing. Running is awful.

Do I love leaving my warm bed,
my warm house,
my warm family
for cold, dark, empty streets?

The way my scalp tingles
and itches
when I start to sweat?

The way my thumbs get numb from the passing of air
that's not cold enough to complain about?

Rolling my ankle in the pothole where the streetlight is out?

I don't.

But

Sometimes a little light pools,
wells up out of the dark,
a bedroom window,
a garden spotlight,
and it feels like it's there
just for me.

Sometimes a memory of a smile,
no teeth,
or just a few,
my son,
my daughter,
my daughter
as babies,
as toddlers,
fades into my mind's view.

And sometimes in the dark,
before the commuters race by,
before even the birds begin their chorus

It's quiet.

The air is cool and clean,
and maybe after a rain
(some day, some day)
I can smell new growth in the canyon.

And for a little while,
I'm quiet.

And I don't panic about my life,
about the some day
when I won't be
anything
anymore.

There's just me,
the dark,
and a four-count rhythm of my footfalls
and my breath moving in and out.

Onetwothreefouronetwothreefour

In, in, in, in,
out, out, out, out,
in, in,
in, in,
out,
out,
out,
out

See you tomorrow.

[Bright and] early.

Originally composed for Twitter.