Stalks

Stalks of corn blow in the wind.

I run through you, cutting

my naked arms,

bare legs

on your leaves.

The sun like

warm bread

wraps around me.

My smile spreads

the pale blue sky.

Freedom runs through me.

I am part of the land.

I stop before

a totem:

a corn stalk laced with ice,

silent, unmoved,

too angry for the wind to touch.

I melt a moment

and tears spring like so much grass

after the snow thaws.