I

Snow that covered the ground yesterday,
blinding me while driving past
abandoned oil pumps near Evanston,
blew away last night
toward Nebraska.

II

People say they want to escape
from the megalopolis of life.
It’s a lie. Don’t believe it.
They’re afraid of getting lost
in this brown, pioneer-trekked solitude.

III

The road curves like the North Platte
and I think I shall live forever.

IV

Near Independence Rock, an antelope
stands amid sage and drifted snow.