Stop the car. There. Now
breathe with me. That broken

Ford needs only a swift kick
to set it right. Listen. The radio

man says For Sale, says Believe.
You believed in me. I believed

in highways. We fell in love.
I’m sorry. I know this bone-white

sky isn’t right. I had to see it
myself. Stare down the throat

of a double-wide, walk the blasted
streets of Billings. This was me,

years before you. I wanted to say
Montana again, and mean it.

Yes. I know. It’s never enough.
The world is mostly broken.

But listen. Breathe with me
here. Taste the dust. We have

three days of highway. I’ll drive,
carry these nowhere bones. Home.