by Patricia Spears Jones

    You looked Texas today

    road hard， scrubbed brush， blown tires

    gasoline islands

    But later California returned-fortune's poster child

    radiating. Truck full of gas，

    cheap camera in the glove compartment

    stuffed toys on the dashboard，

    beads on the steering wheel，

    a pretty girl's picture-fatherly devotion.

    What is lost when love ceases

    is the power to forget

    the early sweetness， the late bitter

    talk， the longing for renewal-we all want

    Spring， but

    Spring does not want us.

    Persevere， the skies murmur. Persevere

    you weeping poets. You funny beasts.

    Hopeful and hurting breathing dragons'

    magic fire. Dry seasons last much too long

    which is why deserts are vast. Floods don't help，

    but days of chilly showers make for blossoms pink，

    blue， violet. A soft evasion.

    Drink from the lake's glacial cup. Hope for better

    winters.