Another footfall

When you pass through the air

your body leaves invisible eddies behind.

Of course you don’t see them.

But you can very nearly see them trailing

behind the bodies of others

if you settle.

If you slow your heart rate way down,

slow your breathing

nearly to a pause,

the people who walk by will seem

to be suspended for moments in time –

even very small movements will appear

startlingly clear.

A foot falls, lifting,

a swing forward

that lasts longer than

you could have imagined,

and then again.

It comes to you at a stroke

that each step is one of a kind.

Follow the foot upwards,

see the gait, the pacing.

You will never believe me

even if I tell you everything.

Arms swing, hands at the ends.

Of course I will finally tire of telling you this,

but then another one strides,

one strolls.

Some time ago I sat down;

I lowered my body

to the pavement.

I sat myself down

in the November sun;

my breath slowed to a pause;

I settled.

And now, finally, after many people

have passed me by

the sun has continued in its course,

and now I am at rest in the shadow

of the building across the street.

My turn has come to

show the world

what this body

can do.

I rise.

A foot falls, lifts,

swings for a long, lingering,

moment,

then another.

Have yourself a seat,

you will never see

anything quite like it;

if not me,

another will walk by

in good time.

If you settle,

really settle,

you might see the dust

swirling in the wake

of my falling foot.