Confident he will get his feet
back under him in time,
since over the green fields
he'd run with power and grace,
as against the faulty city throngs
he long had winged untouched,
he's peaceful as the landscape skews;
soon enough he will outgain its new velocity.
Even when his footsteps shorten
instead of lengthen,
if his grace quavers and he doubts
his powers it must be from exhaustion.
And later if kneeling he wincing
recalls that he only ever falls in spirit, for now
he holds -- eyes closed, braced for landing --
that that hard rising ground will not abuse him.
-J. O'Brien
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