Kai Yan, Joseph Wong, "Jasminum Polyanthum," 2011
There was no sense of self at mile 3—just breath, and cadence, and wordless conversation between the hips and spine regarding dance. A few spiders raveling the lake’s edge, catching nothing save for cast shadows and drops of sweat. Salvia, punching red holes in the budding green. A body, this body spelling “go!” in branched-chain letters, chemical phonemes, until a fugitive sweetness—jasmine?— jacks the motor chain, slows it with each in-breath, until a self can be assembled to memorize a scent.