Remember when we used to walk
six or seven miles, just because
we liked walking? Remember
climbing mountains? You'd shake
from excitement of mounting
and descending mountain after
mountain after mountain range,
and I'd be high from the fresh air.
We lived in a body once, united
in purpose, but something has come
between us, and that was a backbone
gone to ruin. Now we are slow slide
avalanche down, we are collapse,
we are sand castles at high tide,
we are ramshackles, awaiting a match.
I'm saying all this because I believe
you are one of the few body parts
that still work. I don't count myself.
These days we walk, don't run, don't
climb, breathe bad, sweat the terror
of intimacy, call the sun the hideous
daystar it is, swear off hope as cruel
deception, and move slower, every day
almost every part, moving slower.