what does not grow legs

i have watched whole cities walk away.
first the stop lights & then the mirrors.
sometimes on centipede knees & other times
with huge gangling thighs. calves bare & hairy. 
the neighbor girls shoving one last box 
into a beater car. rain coming soon. 
we all do what we must to get away.
the empty train rattled along in search
of feet. i remember once i was the only one
taking the line to the tip of the island's tongue.
you had already left. everyone had already left. 
i arrived just to hear the land beg, "don't go."
no one was there, just a few lost birds
& the ocean's cool breath. i replied,
"what do you want with me?" 
i see a video on tiktok about ways 
to leave the united states. you can pour yourself
into water bottles & throw them into the ocean.
you can bury yourself in a time capsule.
hope that when they dig you up
that the world is softer & less terrifying. 
i have seen this before in the city. the corner store
that turned into a bedroom. the windows 
who shut their eyes to sleep. i wish i was staying
out of conviction or strength. instead,
it is some vague sense of hunger. a desire
to keep something as the rest walks away.
i saw a streetlamp go yesterday. it had 
giraffe legs. walked slowly & with purpose,
as if it didn't want to leave. a light vanishing
just over the hill's forehead. 
darkness blooming wild in its wake.