You speak

and I fall into memory, not my own.

The corners fade

Yet you are distinct

and more alive to me than myself.

Adjectives, nouns and verbs

become sight

and heart

and pace

straining toward phantoms.

Not standing,

not running,

my feet fly and you cross the line.

Thundering pulse of sweat and salt,

the race is won -

although you tore through ribbon long ago.