From the Verse Essays of Ivar Benløs: Coral Pink Sand Dunes

State park. She drank half a flask
Of my best available
Scotch. Needless to say this was
Not Scotland. This was desert.
Our sense of the future is
Our sense of the past. That's it.
Mule deer and bighorn sheep jump

In front of me. Aside from
This ribbon of pavement
These lines don't look differently
Than they did a thousand years
Ago. Uncertainty quakes
Bashfully in front of me.
Here we are and go again.

Has it occurred to no one
That eternal changelessness
Is, in fine, synonymous
With that word, revolution?
You want to get out of here?
Lose the are and prove patient.
There's never a civil war.