There is nothing so constant as
a dirt road in Nebraska,
beyond where the pavement ends.

This timeline beneath my feet
Crunches on and on,
Further than even I know.

This methodical sound of time passing,
Echoes off the fields of an ancient prairie
so superior to its cousin, the **** carpet

of my grandma’s house where
I would hide all my coal-colored jellybeans,
Pretending they were herds of cattle, grazing

Along dirt roads, such as this—
My venerable trail of rock,
Stretching out as far as time perfected.

A trail of ceaseless rock
Worn down by the years of
feet stomping to the memories

of the house, and the jellybeans, and the grandma,
all outlived by a dirt road that reminds me
*for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.