The Runners
You come swiftly down on the wind, oh runners,
cutting the obstinate swathes of space
with the long easy motion of the scythe,
trailing your speed behind you, like banners,
and as you draw effortless to the end of the race
stooping a little as though to gather the swathe.
What is better than with forehead lifted, oh runners,
to speed clean out of the darkness in the mind
into bright uplands of motion beyond desire?
Gatherers of the flowers of distance, passionate gleaners
through the invisible silver cornlands of the wind,
you are not boys running, you are life breaking free, you are fire!
to speed clean out of the darkness in the mind
into bright uplands of motion beyond desire?
Gatherers of the flowers of distance, passionate gleaners
through the invisible silver cornlands of the wind,
you are not boys running, you are life breaking free, you are fire!