Look at him riding the bus on a Wednesday night
He eclipses the sun
As a child, he ran in circles around the swing set
He has his limits
The 5-minute and 45-second mile
The fire in his lungs
The wind driving him back around the far turn
At times he thinks it would be possible to run all day
He says: I will go home
and find an open road
and run past whitewashed barns and wheat fields
and look up at the thunder clouds
and wave to trucks as they grind along their way
He will find something simple and uncluttered
He will fall into the straightaway
with such velocity
time will curve
starlight will bend
the track and the field will accelerate through the seasons
and all the time he will remain the same
