Running Downhill

You’re running downhill.

You’re twelve again, the age
on the cusp of caring
where you end up,
but right now
you’re willing
to let the slope carry you
though you move a little stumbly,
a little floppy,
faster and faster.

You thought this was over
and here you are
getting knocked around again
by the old perpetual motion urge.

Running downhill
as fast and dumb as you can:
that’s glory to the kid you were,
terror to the old man you are,
and right now you’re both and that’s
wholeness, something you’re willing
to run to.