The Ghost on Dead Bird Run

I rise,
silent,
in the dark
and peer out
at the wind, strong but not impossible.
Nothing is impossible.

I lace
up
silently
and don a vest
for safety.

I step out on
Bird Road,
keeping silent still.
In step,
maintaining pace,
inhale the morning air,
asthmatic lungs rhythmic.

This run
has
landmarks.
Once there was
a dead bird
right there,
squashed, flat.
A dead Pukeko,
dead by the ditch
saddened me then.

Today it is me. Looking. Running.
I see the crescent moon,
waxing and thin,
Venus and those other planets,
they were in line a week ago, now
spinning off on their own tracks. Me?
But then
a random shooting star
I say "shooting star" out loud...
...
and I'm aware
that
I'm the ghost
on Dead Bird Run.