Mid-Stride

Sidewalk hums underfoot,

left, right, pendulum swinging—

not there, not yet somewhere.

Damp leaves, diesel air.

Past the deli’s flickering sign,

flowers wilting in buckets.

Pockets hold a penny,

a question, unasked.

Mid-step, a thought snags:

Did I lock the door?

Or was it words I regret?

Mind stitches scraps, uneven.

River moves, unconcerned,

carrying clouds, old hurts.

Notebook’s zipped shut—

no lines for fractured light,

or shadows stretched too long.

Mid-thought, I hover,

hawk on an updraft,

circling, not landing.

Leaving? Staying?

Streetlamp hums indecision.

Dog barks, horn replies.

Not lost, just mid-everything:

walk, sentence, heart’s stutter.

One foot lifts,  

not yet down.