Wyoming

A half-empty Greyhound bus carrying
an autistic toddler crying
across a doldrum interstate
windswept by panoramic Winter nothing.
The cries are met
by the silent bag eyes
of bus people, eyes which reflect
visions
of snow & sagebrush & deadpan pasts
at the rate of 65 m.p.h.,
a rate which gives each eye
a nocturnal nature
even as the nowhere-veiled sun's reflection
skirts off the ice
at the edge
of a dead swath of freeway.