Run

I ran home from your house that night,
salt-frizzed hair swinging behind me,
worn flip-flops slapping softly, a rhythm in the dark.
The dark trees cut me a wide strip of pale
grey sky, stars hanging big and close.
No headlights, no streetlights, just me
and the crickets, deafening.
I ran home from your house that night,
face to the sky, breathing coming fast now,
the cool sweetness of early September
in my lungs,
the yellow line led me all the way home.