Between Two Lines

Never, not once, was there an apology
uttered from the pavement, not after
uncountable steps, not one groan of
remorse rebounded up,

nor was there a hint of shame from the rain
that refused to fall, that hung as a wall
of humidity; not a sound when
you stood, arms on your waist, slightly
bent over, and felt the rain pounding
an already soaked body; not even a
whisper of an apology from the wind,

and invisible miles passed without
compassion, miles that onlooking cars
could not see how many elapsed, how fast,
how far remained, miles that simply
pilled up like stones of a monument,

and foundations formed during
predawn hours, laid silently and
often sleepily, spoke no encouraging
words; while a muted sun, with all of its
various faces, offered nothing as it burned
dispassionately down upon your
waning body,

all of this, you endured, for today,
because today you run a marathon, and you
shall use the gift presented today…

to bare your soul, without apology,
between two lines.