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WYOMING Julia Rietmulder-Stone

I dreamt moon-cratered hills
for years I saw myself

arms outstretched, face thrown back
uplifted to a sharp white sun. I dreamt me
alone under a crisp

mid-afternoon cloudless sky.

I dreamt sparse grass, and me
alone even when you promised
otherwise. I dreamt me alone

on a moon-cratered hill expanding
to fill the mid-afternoon
cloudless autumn sky.

I drove Interstate 80, Pennsylvania
to Wyoming fast as I could
through flatlands, cornfields a blur
Illinois Iowa Nebraska
eyes on the horizon

of the silver band encircling my finger.

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