OUR RAPTURE HAPPENS HERE
Not from, but deeper into
the bent-necked grass, the overpass
mammoth bones fuel beauty
a stand of aspen waiting for glaciers
a band of seers marooned
in their big myth
Workers stripe the lot into car-sized parcels,
and each of us drives a country-sized I
If my mind is this small meadow waving
If we earn no parcel of blue
If no rain, if missile, if lark call, if laser
The wayward heroine roots for erosion
her homework consists of equations for staying
someone built that one-room lean-to
someone bent and panned this bed
my gram, my germ
spent piece of the species
vanish and live a western end
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