They race around the rings
evenly matched
a thirty second lead after
twenty-two thousand marathons.
But even when running forever
thirty seconds can add up.
Orbit after orbit they race,
the inner moon slowly pulling away
then pulling closer to lap.
Horseshoes but no hand grenades,
the God of Transitions is called forth.
With seemingly no afterthought
the smaller moon gives way,
Inner moves to outer
and drops back.
The dance renewed
and the race goes on.
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