Texas Reznikoff

— Erin Jin Mei O’Malley

after Mitski

[there is a season for this—you watching me watch / bats unfold away from the bridge into our lake / of air (me wishing for whatever / species’ bones would bait me) / with more sky / and you thanking god for making texas / a landlocked state / (in all the wingless ways that matter) I reach out / to cradle any portion of dusk mid-flight / and you open / your eyes and remember (the trees / too / but only because of their blue / black shadows) / how you looked / at me and tilted your head to count every animal / above us / but they’d already gone extinct / from august (and even your hands were made / useless) you won’t wave any flags / but you’ve settled / (for the arid soil you’ve inherited) when summer secedes / from our country / you’ll still be the wind / (bringing me closer to the autumn) / of what I want / (to be still with you) / someday / it will be winter (and the bats who appeared as dark stars / already so far / from us) / will leave the city where we met / our first loves our seconds and then each other]

then, my finger will point to every departure and land on a single / lone star

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