You can choose the sky from a line-up. The color, the clouds, the shape of the horizon, the memory of it all fits into the palm of your hand. You can close your eyes. Open. Close. Everything is as it was. As it always will be.
The west was won the day you were born, and you never looked back. Or east. Or north or south. It's always been here with you. You couldn't leave if you tried. And you've tried.
When you lie down, your hips and waist and shoulder, a bit of your arm, they sigh into place, and take the shape of the foothills, the mountains. A valley in between.
You could say you never knew, but you did. You've looked up from the back seat and known it wasn't right. The air feels weird. The temperature is lower. The moisture is dry. The sun is bright.
I need this. I need this thing.
Say it.
I need this. I need this thing.