Dusk caps its pen over another finish

Running in the legal sense only
my legs weave exhausted metaphors
sweat from my T soaks me
in my self-perceived mediocrity

My feet touch the pavement
like crumpled poems
tossed to the park floor

There is no more within me

Until I see the finish line ahead
and I fall into the arms
of sweet race volunteer
a walking talking muse
who wraps me in a foil blanket
letting my memory rest
(I fell in love with her a little)

Though the race is done at last
the time poor
the pace slow
the miles trekked and cold
safe in my foil blanket
I see how far I have come