Virginia comes over the country

First,

I'm half way up Green Mountain when I see her leaning off her hip,

drinking from an old mug some water she collected of the rock.

Virginia, what a surprise, what is she doing here?

Virginia, I say, What a surprise. What are you doing here?

She doesn't answer because she's got her head facing West and

I'm speaking up from the East.

But I reckon it has something to do with the different between

hills and mighty elevation .

Then,

I'm driving like I will on Friday Mornings to work on the farm.

The land is regal with the hue of morning and

I'm just sucking and sucking and sucking it in through my eyes

as much as I can, when she's there, then, too,

Virginia's right hand disappeared into the matted fur of a buffalo's back.

Virginia! I shout, my car idling on the dirt path with the urban title of 59th street.

Virginia, I shout, what are you doing over there?

She answers this time, but with a clippness as to indicate I've got one

question, and I've asked it.

"Getting bits of whatnot off the Buffalo! Cleaning him up, really!"

I call out "Oh"

but realize she won't answer any others,

she's back to the animals, grass up to her hips.

I want to ask her how Jackie is,

how's the smell on the little road near Charlottesville.

What boxes have been brought in to the bookshop,

how many shark teeth have washed up on the Potomac.

But I'll just have to trust my intuitive answers:

twofeetwell, thus better, crisp, civilwar and popup books,

and too many to count, too many to ever fully collect.

It's nice to know, now, that the states visit one another sometimes on the weekend.

Next time Colorado goes calling, I'll ask if I, too, can go.