All this winter I was sleeping,
restless in another body, turning
some living secret of the unborn,
my features anyone’s or yours.
Now as my windows darken
with rich, brown furrows of the spring,
my small car rides the wind
going into you; Eden, Little Chute, Theresa,
lifting your names around my own,
taking muscles in my legs and arms
where I lean in, closer, deeper
following the yellow line
through Pickett, Omro, faster,
hello Kaukauna, a dark patch
I say goodbye to, goodbye Gillett.
I’m back, I’m yours, alive.