The Saturday run
My feet play the skin of the earth like a drum,
beats echo up the flutes of my bones.
This primal dance, known marrow-deep,
is pleasure and ache, pitch-perfect yet
felt in every cell like feedback screech.
But forget the body, it’s all in the mind,
that grit of teeth and will that keeps
my stride’s metronome ticking on,
each second a replica of the last.
My breath huffing in time as my feet
slowly turn this shining earth,
I shed the dull skin of a life lived inside.
Alone, drumming my solo to this world
of wild, unholy brilliance, I run.
From the comfort of my chair, I love your description, particularly the last two lines. I'll stick to walking, but you do show me what I'm missing. (Smile.)
ReplyDeleteyes, running is a kind of spi-ritual ritual(or even ceremony), you run with the revolving movement of the sun, the earth, the moon, you run with the rivers, the streams of air ... all are running and you're part of the cosmic journey!
ReplyDeleteLovely! I really like running poems, and this is a good one!
ReplyDelete