From Up Here

The Trail Surrounding the Boston Reservoir

Standing on this path that overlooks
the wind-rippled water's face
there's a ring slung round,
the pond's fringe where
people are running.

You want to console their sweaty brows
from up here where the branches
frame their exhausted faces
and you wonder.
What is it that they
are running from?
Frustrated relationships or finances?
What is it that they
are running to?
A body that won't fail them
this time?

Maybe they're not running
from or to anything
but maybe something
is running out
of them.

Maybe like a child learning to walk
they've decided to break their
small circled crawl from
a desk of messy papers
to a kitchen sink with dirty dishes.

Maybe they're getting up on those
two legs and walking out to
that which they don't know:
a street they haven't seen beyond,
the sun shining from a new angle,
the wind blowing in a new direction,
a direction they might follow.

Who knows but it is accepting the promise of more.
One more step, one more breath, one more ounce of sweat
than you are used to yielding.

All one knows is that no matter how difficult
the struggle in the stride,
the crunch and pinch of lungs locking,
or eyes wincing as sun and sweat pools in pupils

from up here,
you want to swoop down and like an angel
fly beside them and, with the wind, whisper
that all this pain is all so small.
Your problems are solved,
Your joys are simple.
You are a child learning to walk.