Swallow

Crickets sing all day in the ditch
in lavender grasses and goldenrod
under red-tipped ivy and a lemon willow.
I run down the winding grey road.
It's like me, old but not broken
under the deepest blue sky ever.
I never know on a long run
when my body will take off
in a burst of energy and pleasure
that takes me back to my twenties
and I feel like a swallow
tearing downhill
in love with gravity
and the narrowness of incarnation.
Above, the sky is bluer and bluer,
and it has always been blue,
the essence of blue
that wants to drink in
the gossamer light of the eye.