At the Rim

Imagine a hand
holding water
beside a race.
Feet hurry past.
The hand stays.

Someone reaches.
For an instant,
two different kinds of effort
meet at the rim.

The new song takes its cue
from racing and community.
This small scene is invented,
not a detail claimed
about that event.

It is a way to ask
what speed depends on.

Not only the body
leaning toward a line,
but the people
who make that leaning possible.

In the imagined scene,
water spills on a wrist.
Nobody stops to make
a beautiful sentence of it.
There is another runner.
There is another cup.

Let the music have its quick pulse.
Let it carry the wish
to go farther,
to turn a corner
with something left.

And leave room
for the work that does not race:
the waiting,
the watching,
the hand held steady
at just the right height.

A story can move quickly
without leaving that hand
out of the picture.

The finish line
is not the whole drawing.

Somewhere along the way,
the pace of one person
has met the patience
of another.

For one brief moment,
the race is a cup
neither person lets fall.