Where Is My Friend?

The shadow I cast when I stand  
in the sun has disappeared
beneath the trees, shadows
of crows over the roof
of the post office, or the field
of clover they fly above, throats
open, stitching the world
together with a fine thread,
doing the work of belonging.
Nothing is too trivial to love
enough to walk toward it,
your footsteps leaving 
badges on the earth, even
the nettles that chafe
your ankles worthy of love,
sparks of pain, like your
shadow, that prove
you’re alive.