Poetry About Legs

In knees rising on the steep stair, legs finds a visible shape. Calves burning past the final mile carries what ordinary speech leaves unfinished. Between bare feet planted in wet sand and a dancer balancing before the mirror, the heart learns to listen. Movement is an ordinary freedom the body renews each day, though the day rarely says so aloud. By night, two careful steps after injury becomes a promise rather than an ending.

Calves burning past the final mile enters the poem first. Legs follows, neither symbol nor explanation, but weather. A dancer balancing before the mirror keeps the difficult measure. We stand near knees rising on the steep stair and let certainty loosen. Movement is an ordinary freedom the body renews each day. Two careful steps after injury remains after the room grows quiet.

Someone remembers bare feet planted in wet sand. Someone else names knees rising on the steep stair and means an entire life. Legs moves between them with patient hands. Calves burning past the final mile refuses to become only background. Movement is an ordinary freedom the body renews each day. At last, two careful steps after injury gives the silence somewhere to rest.