The unidentified runner,

poised on heated clay like

disciplined roots,

sucking up valor like

bracing bodies.


Golden with fury,

like Ra, a statuette,

nimble like luxuries and

nearly as weightless.


He,the mobile, marble piece,

a knight retreating

into the low clouds, harrowed, but defeating,

silver icons of recycled grieving.


Stretching sinew and veins,

wiry, turning like treachery and

beneficiaries. In his running

and the length of legs,

grating like machines, but

spoiled and red.