The people sleeping in their beds still do not hearme jogging past their little nests of concrete,
do not see the slightly lumpy woman sweating
in the coolness of the morning air, would not
care what motivates, inspires the perspiration
and the effort. And that's okay. How could they
know that underneath the clothing and the 50-something
skin beats a heart (beating rather quickly
with exertion) that hasn't lost desire for passion,
wonderment, for heat? For life? If surprise
of joy is only a mirage, at least I'll get some mileage
from the hope and if I die without my dreams
fulfilled completely, then I die in better shape
than I would be if I had stayed
in bed another hour.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013
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