I noticed that you left a footprint on my patio
the brand of your sneaker stamped across it, it was the shape of North America
and that’s where you were, quietly moving through
my little city, my little between-the-ears
my little muscles, contracting with the thought of you
expanding like the thought of you
when you are gone, and I only see the ghost of your misshapen bootsole
it moves faster than a train, and I only know that you are in North America
and it is too big to find your small quick step
but I sometimes remember that you are North America
and then I feel you everywhere.