Poem 1

Satisfied that - in a race against myself - I can still, at least, come fourth.


So I take the headphones out of my head
And sure enough, about a minute later
I’m overtaken

By the boundless freedom
Of legs and a forest to run in.
Intoxicated by cold and
The sound of the bounce
Of gravel and trainer
The hit of the track
And the give of the hips.

Six Kilometers up the forest road
I need a pull uphill and once more
I’m overtaken

By the boundless freedom
Of breath and a heart for running
Cut by the cold and
Jumping into the stream
Stone stepping the rocks
The soaked heat of my socks.

Through the puddles to the station
And one last time, I’m overtaken

By the boundless freedom
That comes of running
Burnt by the cold
Along the riverbed
Of road unwinding,
Over the moor
Grey-Silted by the moon.