Don’t return to your four corners.
Stay inside the lungs and thorax that once
released you to the world. Move in me,
so I can feel the pleasure of your passage.
I promise I won’t plead for more.
As long as wind feels like it once felt,
as long as you are wind, I won’t move.
Not even the leaves gathering at my feet,
nor their ravenous colors, are of interest,
just you, visible and audible, the pure
measure of yourself, shaping stillness.
That’s why I’m standing here while you
are everywhere. That’s why when I see you
advancing across the field, I won’t know
if you’ve come to ravish or restrain me.
To read more poetry by Michael Collier, purchase the issue.