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I am
used to wider roads
Large letters scrawled between broad margins
A well-paved lane or two in each direction
With firm shoulders on which
To pause when tires flatten
Or red warning lights flicker
Here the steep vermilion cliffs
Carved out by forgotten rivers
Squeeze in on a narrower road
Stingy with arid gravel and dust
Reluctant to release any land
To the repetitious mantra of my wheels
Dwarf juniper and pale sagebrush posses
Riding out of the desert
To ambush the thin and wavering asphalt
I am accustomed to wider lanes
More frequent oases with the cool shade
Of deciduous trees
The mob of my own crowded civilization hurrying
Evidence of water and life
Other than ants, thorns, lizards
Along this desert road
Makeshift white crosses and plastic flower
Death memorials
Caution me, to watch
My haste and where I interlope
Like an outsider on an unfenced
And unfamiliar canyon trail
Careless on the loose soil and uneven footing
I could step off this century
And never return.
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