Driving North to La Salle

The highways belly and dip, 

threading each other

out of buildings and businesses.

The car falls and rises

pushing up snow-peaked mountains

with the acceleration, each mile spit

behind the rear wheels. 

All objects fall to the earth,

become grounded,

and the land reaches out-

A lone smoke stack

with a guard of chrome cylinders

shoulder to shoulder.

Outside the city brittle, papery, ghosts of corn stalks become

silhouetted by the sun on Long's peak-

At the foot of each plant,

drifts of gathering snow.

Wind turbines ready for the gusting plains,

stack like dominos in front of big players.

In an old lot there stands a double-wide

lording over piles of used tires.

Young golden eagles

are stalking mice and prairie dogs

and a magpie is dodging eighteen wheeler's.

Ribbons of cattle gate and fence surround muddy feed lots

outside the husk of a Western fort, 

previously the property of the U.S. cavalry.

Cargill grain silos rise hundreds of feet

blotting out the sun on the storage tracks

where the old heads sit in locomotives,

chewing tobacco stretched out in overalls,

waiting to get on the main line.