I started the day by going to the gym
(things I rarely write for 400, Alex),
wishing the process of lessening my
presence on the planet did not involve
rooms with pumped up jams and rows
of televisions blasting morning shows.
I came prepared with headphones and
the podcast of a poet—Mary Oliver,
and as the soft animal of my body
began to pour with sweat i listened
to her talk about a grasshopper
eating birthday cake from her hand.
Four miles later, I had worked up a
sweat going absolutely nowhere,
except for the journey of her words,
the exercise of the heart and mind
that lifted the weight of my world,
stretched my wild and precious life.