Then I drew near that endless plain
where no one goes
Who finds the way to home again,
or comes to know

More than the stile that turns about
in that cold wind,
Counting to see that none come out
who once went in.

Beyond, the windrows, overgrown
with weeds and tares,
Though not by names or numbers known,
still whisper there.

Jared Carter's most recent book, Darkened Rooms of Summer: New and Selected Poems, is from the University of Nebraska Press. He lives in Indiana. Read other articles by Jared.