These ridiculous, Christ-eyed hares,
projected once or twice through headlights,
wet the highways outside Helena, Montana.
We watched for them where battery-operated crosses
threw their bleach over the badlands,
emitting a blank, sedative buzz
that bleared waking sight.

When I did wake, it was to dust
flung over red rock, and surprised turbines
that shepherd it all westward.
I can say I was happy to be spotted
by them, waved down, though I never knew
which border they meant to point to.