Words for the Chisel (collection)/Runner

by Genevieve Taggard

For works with similar titles, see Runner.

Runner

You are not for valleys. Or for any maiden,
You are a runner. I have seen. I know.
You were never made to move, laden, heavy-laden;
You were born to nimble air. I have seen you go.

One wind is your wind. I have seen you finger
Forms in the air, sightless, hard to hold;
Nothing ever held you, ever made you linger;
Ever even ran with you; no one, young or old.

She is like a sickle, cutting swathes with rasping,
Swishing as she comes, and the trees lie down like wheat;
Go to find your phantom now, clasping and unclasping
A wind eluding open hands, eluding lightest feet.