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FINISH LINE by Simon Perchik

finishline

Runners train by it, both my fists
and at the finish line
snap open the way each new moon

still unbeaten uses this flourish
to poke inside these stones
—you can’t hide much longer

and years mean nothing now
dropping back from exhaustion
dragging the dirt behind

—wherever you are I can find you
handful by handful broken apart
for just two fingers calling out

and in front the unyielding ribbon
suddenly dark I can snatch
the breath letting me through.

 

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One comment on “FINISH LINE by Simon Perchik

  1. What a beautiful poem! The last two stanzas are haunting.

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