Mind, ancient marathon runner, why can’t
you stay on track, your flexing feet spraying
cinders behind you in a muffled rant
of discipline, yet your pace keeps playing
with me and earth, your sinewed frame turning
off course toward desert plains and forest hills
promising mountain streams, psyche yearning,
renewed flame constantly burning for thrills
igniting beyond your universe’s
grasp, rhythm of your vast majestic stride
dashing through grass valleys, flashing verses
before us we’ll never catch hold and write
as you refuse to pause, cause prayers for grace
to rise and guide us through this endless race.
Roger Armbrust
September 24, 2011
