Wheel ruts,
scythe rows
in a soybean field
point pole star north
intersecting at right angles
with the rim of the earth.

From his front porch,
mottled hands mapping the land,
grasping the pied railing,
the sun rising in his periphery,
he surveys this path plumbed true,
mist on the pasture.

But east to west shadows parallel I-80,
roughhewn flatland prairie
becoming straight-line Pacific.
In the distance,
the bus’s dust plumes,
nearing.

Steve Gerson, emeritus English professor, writes poetry about life’s dissonance and dynamism. He is proud to have published in Panoply and to have been named an Editors’ Choice.