Wheatscapes

 East of Montana's glaciers
 There were miles and miles of wheat
 Fields unharvested, glittered gold
 By the light of the sun
 Transferring cosign radiance
 Under the rim of the Rockies.
 It was a time when
 Grains and bugs still splattered
 The car windshields,
 Glossy graveyards between rolling hills
 Sketching a windswept horizon
 Full of wheat, all wheat,
 The amber threads weaving
 A tapestry for the road.
 Peacefully they waved in a sunset's mirror
 That filtered through the mountains
 On evening's open ceremony.
 My young hands gripped the wheel,
 My face grew tired
 As their tendrils gripped me,
 Whispering the secrets of death
 Tossed and turned in the mill uphill
 Shredding their nutrients

 Off the highway sand.

 There's no telling

 Whether we domesticated them,
 Or them us.