Running

David Wagoner

Running across country easily at evening, taking the stones
As easily as stubble, running from nothing but going
Past fences swamped by berries, into a high field
And down a long furrow sloping into wheat, then climbing
To scatter the booming pheasants, crossing and turning
Where cinders slant to a bridge, then underneath
And down a green creekbank over the crowns of logs
Through shallow water and ferns, stumbling into the woods
To a clearing gold as a haystack, faltering
Now, breath going back, and forth, catching
And breaking, then running down to the ground
Into a deeper grassbank, sprawling, raking the air
And sweating it out, a stretch of sky thrown backward,
Blinking, scraping at breath
As brokenly as heart-beats, everything in the rib-cage running
And running, going ahead
Without me across country, the deep breath burning.