Roswell in the Spring

All this tan and sand is alien to me.
Where I was seemed so much greener,
mountains were cleaner. Lovers were, too.
This spring is not the season I expected.

I know that summers flow
and other colors come...
No one could make it through that fall,
that winter together.

A new compass. New tires.
Money for a piece of diner pie
in every county I cross.

This is what a road
is for, I suppose. For going.
Not knowing where you're going.

A search for another new somewhere.
Fresh. A sweet medicine.
Somewhere, I hope, with a shower.