I am the beads of sweat
Trickling from my scalp
To the puddle forming
Under my feet.
(I am not my feet.)
My hand-me-down sneakers
Accuse my legs
Of that I am guilty of;
(I am not my guilt.)
That the sun
Towards which I run
Is the same place that I am leaving.
(I am not the axe that I hold in my hand.)