Even these stymied, powerline poles
can seem like adornments,
inarticulate but sincere,
to these plain and barren hills
with rocky crowns crumbling
from the peaks through these
narrow, breathless passes—the road
running down to dry, white lakes;
empty corrals. Again and again,
everything is shed toward existence,
simple majesty on rock, simple majesty
on hooves, the unbroken successes.
rdking