Angular motion. Left to right has never
seemed so difficult as when we drive
across the plane of Oklahoma. Savor
the flatness of this scene before we dive
beneath the Texas border where I’m from
and you are not, you’ve told me this already.
Where will we end up? Persistent hum
of tires is our story, and eventually
the color of each signpost has its meaning.
Syllable by syllable, we ride
the lines of roads to their established ending
as if the shapes we make will last a while.
This is where we are right now, and then
we reach another place again and again.