Alone

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The walls of green and prehistoric clay rise to my left
as a gray cloud storm wall closes in on me from the right.
I am halfway between Salt Lake and Cheyenne
and hope to make Laramie by fall of night.
Country music tumbles from the speakers
as frequent as the wind gusts toss the sagebrush on the plain.
I gaze across the prairie as far as the eye can see
and suffer in silent pain.
Torn between the draw of the mighty Teton's
with their hint of remnant snow
to the warmth and smell of you
in the south so far below.
I want You to see these sights,
smell the pungent aromas of sagebrush, salt flats,
clean, virgin mountain air,
and the Pacific sea.
My arms and body ache just to smell your scent
and hold you near to me.
Someday maybe my need to go will end
and I'll come home to stay,
But for now the highway pulls me on
and when you wake I'll still be away.

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