three figures

Sunrise
thirty years ago
it was easier to run
than to struggle
with my passions
*
people were alcohol
outside of emotion
life seemed sterile
*
everywhere except
those empty humid
dirt paths
*
there were no
exemplars
to compare my
breath against
*
no christ to
challenge my
footprints
*
the only stimuli
beating down upon
my skin
was sun
*
no bruises did
it leave
*
no tears
*
nor prayers for
release
or death
did it inspire
*
when i was a child
i could run
and breathe
*
replete with
luminous optimism
– – –
but youth has been
interrupted in the
disintegration of hardened
sensuality
– –
desiring to make love
with the atmosphere
my softened feet tell a
different story
*
one several buildings tall
and mentally synthesized
against the awkwardness of
quantitative intuition
Sunset