Wagon ruts--those cut backs
Of roads along a ridge
Heal in natural obsolescence,
Heal with rock and wash ripping gullies,
Bearing gnarled root
And jagging teeth of jutting quartz,
Heal with rain and wind
Flinging seed darts to stubble thickets
For holding in a mountain's side,
Heal and vanish from all those
But that old man whose weight
Was of the time and purposes
Of wagon ruts....
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