My gait is now not touching ground,
a moment long I’m more than genes insist,
between the gravity and reason I am free,
suspended is my phase, the summit of my run.
What birds can take for granted, now is mine
a fraction of a second’s twist,
not much, almost enough to fly.
It’s in these particles of time
I see the truth of what may lie ahead
but after landing, all has left the mind;
the phase is over where the feet meet soil.
No more am I a bird, detached from Earth.
My body, now a chunk of lead,
feels as I’m just about to die.
Forgotten thoughts are leaving fast
and newer ones emerge by every move.
A run is feast for what’s oblivious:
between the body and the soul seems air.
I needed time to contemplate this life
in fractions of my body, prove
to myself: almost enough am I.
I should not be on the computer but this poem wanted to be here 🙂