"Go west, young man" The words rang in my mind, As a fractured sunrise appeared in my rear view mirror. I blazed across the saltpan, the growing rays nipping at my heels.
"To her, to her, to her", The wheels seem to chant, as minutes turn into miles, and miles to minutes. I used to pretend what life is like, out on these small frontier towns. Now, the only purpose they server is to mart the distance between hoping and missing.
At midday, the Sierra-Nevada loom before me, by evening it's the coast -- or on long days, the Wasatch. In my mind, I make this trip every night, but at faster speeds. On the occasions my body goes along, the distance swallows me whole.
Greely's words became my mantra, yet I had no intentions to grow with the country. Though grow I did, and westward yearn- until this ends, my heart will westward turn.