Jeff Was Here

And underneath this iron trellis (which holds a string of iron cars at scheduled times of day— the times worn into broken ties) we pass beneath in an automobile dismissed by the well-endowed.

The mountains we circle are indifferent to social customs to which we are bound from the dawn of day we first touch this wandering road to that chartered dusk inevitable.

We fall in the dust of our fathers. Our dust tastes theirs, and theirs, ours.

The trellis does tell us thatJEFF WAS HERE, and we have dutifully followed.