On Training for Another Marathon
Age Rating: 10 +
There is something about the fourth or fifth
Long run of twenty--not the moving miles,
But the secret space between the steps,
Where I am moved by the words of T.S. Eliot:
'The still point of the turning world,'
The dancer and the dance. Admittedly, I
Imagine more a pit, a sticky core,
A butterfly's wounded wing winging;
Or perhaps Rilke's pacing panther
Turning in his cage around a center
Silenced by the endless passing bars
Slicing by like strides on tumbling terrain.
And like the panther, I learn to stay there--
In that space--bursting like a silent star,
Rilke's 'Archaic Torso of Apollo'
Beseeching me to change my life; to move
In the unmoved--for however long it takes--
Even if there never really was, or is, a race.