William Meissner
Drifting, like a Circle
Whenever you find yourself walking, leave something behind
for the rest of them who follow rivers: leave
the spokes of your handprint in wet mud,
leave the sparrow you ran so long to catch and caress,
leave the sunlight clinging to its feathers, leave
bits of your face: mirrors;
leave drops of your blood:
rubies.
Touch each place where you’ve been:
touch the crusts of the bread, touch the worn maps
in their centres where they sag with miles.
Do not be afraid when you
feel them breathing.
When you walk away,
leave your shedded skin
behind, like a wrinkled note in a bottle,
leave something for them to find, for them
to leave behind.
Page(s) 17
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