An Ordeal of Change

Any other kind? I suppose
An ordeal of slow change
Might seem like an ordeal
Of no change, but no. No

No-change ordeals occur.
To occur is, well, you know.
But I'm not sure we're dreaming
The same kind of ordeal.

There's an unsealed half-tar,
Half-gravel road looping away
In front of me as I wince
Through this latest ordeal

Of fifty years and change.
It looks like a long line
Of power lines viewed by a bird
On the wires, but it's grounded

In sandy loess and snow blown
Over black basalt and freckled
With the usual true juniper trees.
This is Utah, after all. Change. Heh.