XI.

New landscapes push my shadow from my heels, 

far enough that I can hold out my hands and

touch the sunrise, fresh peaches, river water.

In dewy fields or dim-lit cities,

for a moment

I can—

inhale. 

Exhale. 

Greet a stranger

without a shadow on my shoulder.

It comes creeping back,

always,

when avenues have linked into maps

and new faces have become familiar.