There is no need for maps,
for guides and milestones –
there is only running.
There is only the thought
of ground and feet
and the heartbeat
of falling soles and strings
meeting the hands of the path
and lifting them in temporary flight
towards ahead, wherever it is,
wherever my knees want
to touch and bend against.
There is no need to go a certain way.
There is only running
and dawn on its way
and its hues cutting
across the sky’s skin
like paintbrushes
with razors for caresses.
There is only running
and muscles singing
and humming the language
of drums and claps and slaps.
There is only running:
wind and lost souls
in every step and inhale,
closer, closer, closer.
This is running.
This is all I want.