Wind
       

If you sprint fast enough,
the corn runs with you,
whole rows quick on their roots.

Slow down and they jog
calm and breathless.
Stop and they turn

to walls. Hands on knees,
you pant, and all the leaves,
like wings, beat wildly.

Copyright © 2009 Michael Walsh All rights reserved
from The Dirt Riddles
The University of Arkansas Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission