The Tire Graveyard

Centuries pass in a single leap.
My sister guides us through wavering jungles,
purple and green stretching, bursting through the seams,
grass growing between our toes.
Our eyes adjust to the dark,
shadows pirouette, 
tangle and untangle.
She is taking us to her treasure: 
the tire graveyard.
We walk miles upon miles and only travel 100 feet.
Giant rubber donut holes 
await us to play, to climb.
We approach the tire graveyard 
what we expected to find,
still it chills us when we see
the 6. feet. deep.
Piled, stacked it seems
they left you here for us to ponder.
What roads have you traveled?
What have you seen?
May we climb upon your carcass?
May we rest amidst your bones?
Will you show us your dreams?
and with that a tire in the back
smooth from years trodden,
coughs himself to life.
Oily teeth reveal to us a story,
I have climbed the million dollar highway 
crept over the most jagged of edges,
I have carried wanderers and hikers
husbands and brothers
precious, precious goods. 
Yes I have. 
I have made a dollar and burnt it too
all so I could share this with you.
I'll be here when you rot then flourish.
Someday you'll be a tire too.