the wind is always warm here

where the boys still ride in the beds of pickup trucks

breezes snap through t-shirts

hot metal and sun reddens arms

burns bare necks

it’s on these backroads we learn to kneel

by rattling tailgates and midnight headlights

we curl hands around wheat, wheat around teeth

we vulgar our tongues

the body turns hollow

you hear the wind whistling through collar bones

we want to grow wings

but know we can never fly

only learn how to find balance

dabbing the corner of blazing tawny eyes

a boy looks over his shoulder into the past

asks me if I want to stay

when I say no, I feel guilty

the smile on his face as I leave is the same as when I came