Sometimes I think I see the air
and all that was potential
acquires the aura of its birth:
the desert that became a bottle
that broke into a crown
that chose to seize its day
Because I couldn’t stop
for breath, my legs outran
their shadow like a train
By which I mean a cornfield
long-legged, mechanical,
the rhythm of a film
in the middle distance
shooting the horizon
The earth is round
