Her mind opens through the windshield

over a straight highway,

eyes squaring the fields neatly

left and right.


She marks her progress

with grain elevators and population signs

every twenty miles or so.


Don’t confuse her

with mountains or skyscrapers

or wide rivers.

She wants creeks and stone fences,

abandoned silos and windmills,

cows huddled on a sagebrush slope.


Dry spidery forms

tumble in her dreams,

cottonwoods shimmer,

sunsets draw her west.


Now and then

she stops at a crossing

to watch the evening train

bolting to New Mexico.


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