you forget yourself in the distance of running.

a landscape cannot help but change
in its contours and beauties

its will is influenced by the wills of love
and abandonment,
flights of fancy
and preservation.

it's a bird with a clipped wing and one leg,
still it flies and will fly (away).

{and if you try to catch it, it will always be
one movement ahead, eyes faced forward,
and you streaming like the wind
behind its back.}

(come dance with me, let us forget
that you do not belong to me
and i do not belong to you.)