The instinct is in there,
still,
like muscle memory,
no tension,
just moving like
an arrow in flight.
A flick of a switch,
and I'm in gear,
chasing the movement
of something I did not need
to be taught
to run after;
just as simple as a greyhound
responding to something
in my blood.
You smile,
and I have seen
the rabbit.
I need to stretch my legs.