From Oakland to nowhere. Salt flats,
Badlands, Devil’s Tower swelling
before us then receding in the rearview
like a warning. Bob Barker
Born Here. The rope of your arm
around my shoulders throughout
the informational video for Crazy Horse.
You always told me safety
meant seeing all the way
to the horizon unobstructed
and who would know better than you
the parameters of a strong defense.
Your heart rate slowed when we were
alone in a field in Wyoming but really
I was alone, you on top of me like
a question I still haven’t answered. The bison
lumbering closer - mangy, irritated -
their hooves trembling the earth
beneath us, my body shifting in between
like a fault line. Turning my face
away from your turned-away face, a frenzy
of eyes, searching the blank horizon.