cross

river after
river after river
until nothing familiar
is contained between

sandy banks, and you remember
the scene from a time past that must be
only a few hundred miles further
along this road. Young woman

who asked for a ride might have been
Buddha, but you told her you couldn’t take her
where she wanted to go.
As if you knew. Every

right-wing sign on this drive
has been on the left side
of the road to keep my perspective
on the politics of the place in order.

They put up billboards here
that just say JESUS
to help us
remember where we are.

Still, I need a river
where nothing runs to know
an orient at my back, to know
which way to go from here.