Late September -- Passing The Hoover Dam At Dusk

I entered by somber incandescence
of lamps in the late twilight, your pulse of
concrete and cables. Along your narrow,
winding road stood visitors dispersed in
their shadows of a deep unspeaking while
in nightfall's serrated horizon the
dark hills gathered into ghostly faces,
lost Chaldeans ever fixed upon stars.
Even the Sky changed the way it touched you,
for in your peril from something thickly
hung in the air -- like a plague ship at bay --
She watched over you as a fevered child.