The Body's Heated Speech  
a n    o n l i n e    c h a p b o o k    b y    b r i a n    d e a n    p o w e r s

I’m running the lakeside path again,
   past the last shards of March

melting along the shore. This body
   built on bone strides silently,

as light as the breath on my lips.
   An hour in, quads and calves propel

themselves, knees keep leading me forward
   and time becomes a seamless stream.

Doesn’t matter that I will never be
   much of an athlete, that I will

never run fast or win a race.
   This body is a quiet current

of muscle and pulsing blood.
   I am altogether alive in glistening skin.

© 2003 by Brian Powers

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