The poem
Elevators, like great oaks rise into the evening, and when they descend you hardly know yourself. All night the fair, shadowed cab light shone on the trucker's face. If only he had learned to think like that!
Some extremes, but much benign lack of interest, for which the heart gradually opens. ... patiently working, bringing cattle
from Denver, sorghum, oats, butter, wheat and pigs from the Midwest, steel bars, the body
with its different nightly smells ... He wanted to walk the length of Kansas. The years had not even been difficult,
but like the stars he watched from the speeding cab, spaced unevenly ... so many particular events.