Datsy

Austin, I will carry you in my heart.
That warm embrace of oak trees’ jagged, broken, crisscrossed branches.
Your humid, thick nights
like a comforter covering me,
settling me into a
Hill Country embrace.
Gentle breezes of warm summer nights,
sunsets stretched across hills
that run as gentle, and as far,
and as deep as you are wide.
I will carry you in my heart.
Air, heavy with the aroma of a coming storm,
rolling ‘cross your western plains—
warm rains, hot with petrichor
stirring up
forgotten scents of earth.
Oak trees with outstretched arms,
giving shade and canopy over streets, avenues, and the city,
over city blocks, people, and families
walking into golden mornings.
Your music,
your birdsong,
your red-breasted robin,
your red guitar—
Sixth Street and dive bars,
blind men playing songs of old
from the Mississippi rising.
South Texas,
I carry you in my heart.
Your pink skies,
aurora borealis of the South;
I see you through the oak tree leaves.
Painting light
on tattooed walls
with shadows
reaching down
to lift your head
to deep blue skies,
spread out
as far as you are wide.