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.