Marathon

Petals on a river, a tree in blossom, one pink bud—unopened—falls & is carried downstream & out to sea. From above the other petals seem to carry it. Closer— this is our map, these our footprints, we grew up drinking this water. At the start there was doubt, we lit a torch, no one believed we would make it. Closer— the legs, the heart, the lungs. It's too soon to say we were lucky, it's too soon to say anything until the cloud is pulled back from the sky, until the ringing is pulled back from the bells. Look— everyone we've ever known runs without thinking not away but into the cloud, where we are waiting