The sun has beaten me to this day,
its arms to the sky
while mine stretch and wish
for the quiet victories
of an early rise —
the silent, solitary laps
the final slow rotation
before the crowd roars
and the race begins.
7:25 a.m.
The sun has beaten me to this day,
its arms to the sky
while mine stretch and wish
for the quiet victories
of an early rise —
the silent, solitary laps
the final slow rotation
before the crowd roars
and the race begins.
