Today would have been the Boston marathon. 

As I step, I think of the cooped up runners. 

How far their legs could have carried them. 

Twenty-six miles, and maybe they could have 

gone further.  But even they can’t outrun this. 

There’s nowhere to go.

On the path, people are too close. 

Two weeks from now, I’ll know if this walk 

got me infected. I give an approaching biker 

a look that says “keep your distance” 

from behind my mask, but we can’t 

read each other with these things on. 

And I can’t get far enough away.

I look up, empty blue, a few clouds grazing. 

There isn’t enough space down here.

If I could walk, if the path would betray

its fidelity to the ground and bend skyward.