To The Cheering

Letter jacket orange and blue, C like her first name.
Loose and wild over her tight and wound body.
Loose over that body that runs down the sky,
released when the pistol goes, and she is free.
 A body sculpted from her petite frame, made holy,
like the dream of life cut from stone, time making strong,
time making a sacred trial of cutting away what is not
the beauty within, the strength to cut away untruth.
 She runs under the harsh and white lights, to the cheering,
not hearing or seeing but only the night being cut away,
cutting away which is not the track before her, the end,
the end she never reaches, but for a spilt moment exalted.

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