The dull sky, my billowy breath, the cold
Sharp air: all these things deny time's passage.
Perhaps my road takes me to years of old,
Running not through country, but through an age.
I come to a shack rising from the sage,
Now no more than broken boards and bent nails.
It is a headstone, taken from a page
Of ephemeral and long-ago tales;
Everything falls, yet somehow time never fails.

Out here, far from the city's noise and strife
The sun shines warmly and the air is clear.
The sole reminder of my other life
Is the rare hum of a car I will hear
On the distant highway, both far and near.
But it takes more than a scarce sound
To banish the impression of frontier,
To cast thoughts of the sky and the ground
From me. For all I care, there is no one around.

And though this past-relived time is too swift
To catch (though it's something I'd never stay)
I allow my mind to wander and drift,
To think of the year instead of the day.
All of my worries, the troubles that weigh
Like wrought iron shackles upon my mind,
Wane. Only out here can I cast them away,
Letting them flutter as free as the wind.
I leave both my era and my worries behind.

In time the sun falls behind mountain peaks,
Cloaking the valley in shadow again.
I turn back, traversing both miles and weeks.
I wish to linger but cannot remain
Here. Roads go places -I can't claim the lane
As my home. My longing fire does not burn
Hot enough to melt off each iron chain:
No coals to pursue, just kindling to yearn.
I shall count the hours until I can return.