Thursday, April 28, 2011

Running Scared

The living
that entangles
you and me,
the primeval-
born in
the limitless night-
the sad echo
of the runner
in the valley...
are the beginning
of all things
not told with words.

Names pass
between people-
our stories knot together.
The engine of
the sun and earth
makes time,
which made mountains
its marker:
to guard against the evening
and the vast fleck
of the sky;
to spread the wealth
of the infinite,
to birth
words and numbers.

As warm as
the chords that
still the night,
if I listen to my rhythm,
as constant as
the breathing cave,
if somewhere exists-
if it never begins.

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