One ribbon of blacktop,
roundabout circle where 4 is 1 mile,
so swears the sign.
Her walk's to retread the already trod.
Monitor pace, pulse in vein,
search for the clarity
rumored at mile 6.
All the world’s contained in this,
living, moving beside the edge of green,
park full of life to avoid,
directed despite such open alleyways,
no walls, no row houses, no crust of commerce,
just promise of measure.
For such she is sold.