the copper state

i missed you tonight, arizona.
i was staring up at my own sky
and remembered yours instead.
there were stars and futures
kept between everything else
and the bench i sat in,
while the smoke too warm to be comfortable
left my body.

i miss you while i am not a part of you, arizona.
i never called you home,
but you never kept your distance from me.
all the rustling trees that make noise
(from their branches too gnarled to
keep to themselves when things push them)
told me i found a place to dig in
and visit when i am disorientated.