Texas

Whatever cage you’re in 

you bend the rust-soaked bars 

and free yourself 

with your own dark hands. 

They say things are bigger here 

What they mean 

is that your heart beats feral 

and aches for horizons. 

You stand in a sea 

of wildflowers, watch the tides 

turn from orange to gold to blue. 

Nothing asks your name. 

The heat is like a slow 

guitar, the dark like an invisible 

singer over the radio. 

You hum along without the words. 

The fireflies pop and spark 

and dance in the forest. 

Something in you stops running. 

Your breath calms the animal.