Turquoise rivers flow
From the frozen heart of the mountains
Along the road that stretches asphalt arms
Upward and upward toward the sun.

Tourists savor cans of beer
In the turnoffs.
Some of them are jerks,
And decorate nature with their trash.
Some of them are not jerks,
And put their waste in receptacles
While going “ooh” and “ah”
At goats.

Glacier is a place
For dreamers,
And fools,
Like me.