The Underside of the Map

The highway unspools, a gray ribbon,

through fields that stretch too far.

Nothing here feels given,

just the distance from where you are.

A single barn, its paint peeled back

like sunburnt skin,

stands by a railroad track

where nothing has been.

The sky is pale, enormous,

a wash of indifferent blue.

The landscape feels enormous,

and I feel small, passing through.

No landmark calls your name,

no town pulls you in.

Just this wide, quiet game,

before the next state can begin.