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.