Meg Hutchinson Travel In
Lake Michigan, Lake Erie, a thatch work of fields A flock of white birds tossed into the sky I live in corners of the night Checking in and checking out and then I fly Days stacked up on days, thunder in the winter Lightning flashing through the falling snow I sleep a shallow sleep and in the dream a little boy Runs toward the checkpoint, a white flag in his hand Can I thread my coat to yours and can we turn and turn and turn Can I stitch your sadness to the wind and let it go Will you build a little cabin on your little piece of land Will you curve your body against mine and let it rest? I learn the oneness of alone I learn to call this motion home Travel in, travel deep, travel in, travel deep States stacked up on states, all pressed against the highway Whole country working hard to look the same They call it an illness, that miracle spring When I leapt out of my flesh and became one with everything Can I thread my coat to yours...
