Across the plains of time

          The breeze shimmers the wheat

                      Among the cedars speckling the prairie.

On the brim of this ocean of earth,
         Toothpick tall telephone poles
                     Crucify the ghosts lost in the era,

                                    Filling the void with obsolete souls.

I can still hear their voice’s echo

         In the cusp of technology,

                     Ringing in my ears,

                                   The present future’s new birth.