so much happy
is lost
in the process of
looking for it
and you won’t even know it
until your tank burns through
its last fume
on some stretch of desert
between Tucson
or Las Vegas
or El Paso
at some dusty gas station
you find the well you pull from
in times like this
dry as bone
no,
only when
dying of thirst will you think of
all the happy you spit
out
trying not to be alone