I found this poem by Ashleigh Young in SPORT 44 New Zealand New Writing 2016
All the friends we lost
to self-improvement will come back to us
oddly polished but otherwise the same.
All of the decisions we make in the small hours, to leave, to stay
will also be correct when we wake again.
The great suction that comes from beneath a passing truck
signifies the velocity of the living drawing us near;
when we look back to our dear friends cycling behind us,
their eyes are wide with joy and not terror.
All the friends who avoided our eyes in supermarket aisles
will embrace us in the vegetable markets.
Our erasure of our social media presence will not be half hearted.
On this day our city is as a perfect haircut, its losses gently layered
and what is left, falling gracefully.
If I am riding a horse that takes fright and gallops up a hill,
the horse you are riding will also take fright
and we will be carried away screaming together.
Things will follow due process.
Anything lost, only fallen in long grass.
If I can’t see your face it is only because my face
is pressed into your shoulder.
Pictureless walls sing their freedoms
as if facing a new city, new river, new air.
An open window pulls sheets from the bed
delays their flight, lights up particles of skin and strands of hair.