I imagine 100 thousand years ago.
I lift a car in my palm and watch it ride.
The woods fly past like chasing zebras, me immobile (really),
seated, glass down. The moon and sun break
through the clouds, erecting history in the shadows
of stones, papers, and knives.
100 thousand years ago I aim rope at a point
(heave and pull) and ride fast the yellow, slope land
on the back of broken glacier ice.
With my hand high, I slice the clouds into six elements
painted rainbow by evening.
A man will watch these trails (maybe in Vermont
maybe in the desert) 100 thousand years forward at a river bank,
from the edge of a desert gorge, the heat rises on butterfly backs,
as he imagines 100 thousand years ago. Again and again.
