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I run now
only in my daydreams
when my mind spins freely
as it used to wheel
when running shoes were tied
and I headed out
along the forest trails.
Then as breathing settled
resting on the edge, balancing
oxygen loss and gain
a disengagement occurred
of left brain control
and the freely spinning right brain
filled my self
with vivid sense images.
The old log pond
on the right side of the trail
breathed a bouquet
whose complexity
defied full description
and transported
the runner passing.
I think now of those running days
and sadness descends, bittersweet.
All things are subject to the metronome.
Rust and the moth
prove the power of entropy.
Yet the spirit: imagination and memory
lifts and reconciles
and yields acceptance for what is gone forever.
Bob Dickerson died Dec. 7 at age 89. He was a retired professor of economics, a founding member of the Six Rivers Running Club, and a poet.
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