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when adrenalin shot through my veins
warmed my achilles heel and I ran
without pain without reason
and i heard the sound a second heartbeat
a third and another
louder not far away there was no echo
perfect the woman on sharp wooden feet
the man in the iron briefcase
they ran before me
beat their own path to the way inside my head
they were me I had never seen them before
you can learn : you cannot stop
the treadmills of the world
there is the quick and visceral way
the borrowed protracted seesaw lesson
might i recommend slow
and i watched their voices grew so mellow
with the years they ran in the same place
their hands so placid their sounds unkempt
and that perfection became an echo
with its struggle to be loved in just one way
I stopped and they faded
