Beginning beneath earth we find
a sower, down-at-heel.
Pathetic really, this
lower-than-low mote
of living dust wending
in darkness. I could go on
so I will: merely
a whippersnapper
a poor dissolver
of landflesh,
lacking all definition.
A particular, not particularly
not worth mentioning.
Rain drums the grassroof
a thunderbelly
bellows overhead,
the hum of hard-at-work
threads prick up -
your muscle begins
its training
mucking
in the mire.
loop
your limbs
skinny white
worm
and embrace
growth
and my-my, with a little
training, how you've grown
how you flex across the expanse
of the wood roped ring,
straining out, fusing muscle
onto the boards beneath us
oaks clap in the wind
as they bare themselves
Until with the force
of a heavyweight’s arm,
you thrust
above the soil,
counterpunch
to gravity and all
that might keep you
beneath boot
(me included).
You leave behind
a trophy, the burst
of your stubborn fist -
that all the winter through
may spur on your observers
We stand together in surprise
