DOUGLAS SIRK DIRECTS MY LIFE
I have been as lonesome as the worst cowboy,
who, looking out across Wyoming, saw so little potential
for a state that he thought it might be better as a territory.
And yes, I have forgotten years of my life—there was once
a time that I couldn’t envision a world without you.
What was the point of coming home unless I was coming
home to you—a commute past ballooning derricks
and the eerie silence of wind turbines revolving on the horizon.
I’m not talking about any former love—I’m meaning the chemicals
of derangement—in either case I’m being melodramatic.
When I was yours, the world unfolded before me
like a twinkling confection. If I could, I’d be reshaped
by the land and named by it, the way AstroTurf was named
for the Astrodome—the way Romans were named for Rome.