'a night, a death, the end of a run'

running single-track last night, losing light and the outlines of trees and shapes of reaching undergrowth moving faster on either side, pushing to the event horizon where everything shuts down, ducking through a corner blindly and. suddenly on the ground. stunned. a hand skinned, an elbow grazed, hip thudding. looked up; a huge shape between me and the sky, curving horns black against blue. the escaped brahman bull. smell of anise, a stick a stone, it's the end of the road.

what are you running from child?
shake my head. nothing. sticky warmth on my knee, a scratch a lump, it is nothing at all. it is the tall wooly-headed orderly, five years of handling little babies at AI, slides the point; i feel nothing. is that what makes you so gentle?
head cocks.
gentle?
clear turgid bag sways dripping into marrow, and the riverbank talks of the waters of march, blades burr against skin like the backs of warm bees
there is nothing behind you
there is no reason for fear.
one wheel creaks, panicked shriek of captain kirk. you said he ran away. i lied. lies.
lies?
mother's hand on brow, see you later alligator, now count back from 100, 99, 98 it's the end of all strain, will i will i will i
feel this again? the foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone
yes.
'this' is your creation.
crescent moons dip and fade into black. outlines and shapes reconstitute, ebb then fall of cicadas, after a while, 3 2 1