right hand pointing

C o d y   B a d a r a c c a

Nature's Morse Code

Even after turning down the road towards home,

with dust rearing up and Hahn’s Peak bearing the thick weight

of the horizon, the landscape of home,

your scent is still kicking my olfactory in the teeth

and I’m dreaming of red dirt

that you bathe yourself in until you are the color of rust.

And in every dream, a high Oklahoman sun bears down

to witness our shadows escape from underneath us

and fight each other in the dirt clearing like black roosters.

The clouds of dust spelling out songs in the wind

like smoke signals.