At night I stare at Wyoming.
not a portion of the state
but all of it. Perfectly rectangular
dark green in the corner for a national park
red all over from highways that cut through
nothing but old land.
comparing maps
my country is the size of the whole world
Where states are no longer defined by color
but boundaries to country upon country
which each have stories to tell
histories
languages
airports to land in
currency with the faces of men and women
old land.
to stare at the world
I dangle my feet off the end of the bed.
pointing from guam to new republics
named since I learned them in school.
I stare at words unpronounced and
place my thumb over entire cities
and countrysides
where the cities
and farms have only one thing in common
old land
