Stagecoach Driver — Image by kenne
Westward the wagon jolted
along the ruts and trails,
along the interminable course of empire,
while the sun took a long time going down in the fields.
The earth was slow and hard
and there was nothing to see but land:
it was not a country at all
but the sketch of a country,
the material out of which countries are made.
— from “Nebraska, 1883,” by Edward Hirsch
The dust of travel still clings to his body,
and particles of sunlight fade on his skin.
What has happened to the eternal presences?
— from “The Renunciation of Poetry,” by Edward Hirsch
