One ribbon of blacktop,
roundabout circle where 4 is
1 mile,
so swears the sign.
Her walk's to retread the
already trod.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
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.
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