Pallas

the winds sweep up past her
she looks at the horizon
and sees an inflamed pockmark of gray
far from the Fremont prophesy
beneath her feet the earth breathes

one foot in front of the other
but what does it matter?
she's right where she started
seeking American progress
never did much for anyone

with reputation of the merry men
she makes camp without fire
a frozen heart beating every so often
wait
ing

to dance on the moon amid the stars
to know every living creature
to fly unencumbered through clouds
to build an empire without boundaries
to unabashedly love