Running

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.