It might be anywhere, this dusty
road winding from Ucross to Ulm.
You hike its scrub and shale, later
carving initials in the soft stone,
lying back to dream under sizable sky -
I'll be good, I'll live forever,
bone-buoyant earth stretching off
to Dakota and Montana, a drained
Eocene ocean full of soil-swimmers
shoaled up in mid-life, mid-stroke.
It might be anywhere - a road to Delphi,
or Deadwood, the Via Appia as it nears
the Adriatic at Brundisium, wherever
gravity is the cause of flat water.
But it is the road to Ulm. Continuing
then through Clearmont and Recluse, and
likewise, all along in there, Wyoming.
