I tried to resist, but the thoughts struck me, and some of the words, none of which I used in the end. A poem about the Olympics. About watching it, I guess, because what else I can write about?

Slim packets of calm
down, slowly sliced, and a thread
pulling the inner urge on.

A breath, taken in, shared out,
all eyes fixed on eyes fixed on
nothing, the end, everything.

In a moment, stillness is gone
into action fighting action,
the air shredded into seconds.

The throats recall their voice,
air rushes back, not forgotten
as the roar finds the wind.

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