four hours from boise,
and the same from mccall,
at least two hours from nowhere.
a left and a right, and the same again ad infinitum,
this crowded car advances along what is no longer
a road, but what seems to be some forest service route
that rattles this hunk of metal, hurling steel to the town
named after some tree.
three missed turns, which are required by
whatever god purviews this valley,
prompts this directionless driver,
for there are no maps,
to abandon assemblance of aspirations
in someday finding this settlement.
back in the seat, and a change of heart by this
demanding deity, leaves the car next to the river,
which is somehow parking and also our encampment until
elations exhaust.
