We sing praise for treadmills,
For sweat-musk and fresh towels,
For supple sinews and solid bones,
For flexing cords of muscle,
For T-shirts redolent of last night's
Herbed chicken and sundrop cake.
We sing praise for rising blood,
For our sacred inner rhythm,
For easy-breathing lungs,
For sweat pooling on bald heads,
For the mysterious machinations
That keep us warm and spirit-filled.
We sing praise for clumsy joggers,
For bellies jiggling with each step,
For sudden, violent, wind-breakings,
For horrified stares from treadmill-neighbors,
For all the things that make us smile
Throughout our holy, wholly holey lives.
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