No Buttes

There is no canyon

There is no petroglyph

There are no buttes

In fog

In fog

I’m on the road home to Minnesota 

Whiny for Little Caesar’s

Black olives

Orange Soda

In fog

I’m on the 17 mile bridge to Qingdao

Hungry for bagged beer

Mutton skewers

Confucius

In fog

I’m perched above the black sand beach

Envious

Where in nothing

The Golden Gate Bridge hides

I wear the veil

In this house

I’m the bride of apprehension 

For a dowry of doodles

There is a canyon

But I’m taken