The plain upon the empire’s breast,
A grassy burst of yucca plants
And highway slabs of cobbled tar
Before a sun about to set,
Dissolves in hills at river’s edge,
The end of endless power grids,
And leaves my gaze without a guide:
Behold, the ancient water.
My soul was risen from this land,
A dream like any other dream,
With fraying symbols in the wind
And sage that burns in summer.
