If I

If I ever pull up 

my dusty roots, 

shake this dust 

from my weary limbs 

and set out 

for new atmospheres 

to drink in, 

do not forget me. 

Whisper my name 

to the grass, 

and watch it 

stretch 

towards your breath. 

If I ever decide 

that this land 

no longer holds 

new secrets
for me to unearth,

I will send you 

postcards- 

one from every place I stop- 

so that you will know 

what it is 

to be loved 

by the entire world.