The river has run dry, its bed is empty, and
Across the flower carpet dim and dusty, parched
Penstemon and brave little brittlebush,
Expecting an inundation, stretch in a rush -
Spreading petals and leaves which their wetted
Tapestry of color and life weaves - but they fast
Revert to survival tactics and retract petals, in the
Yearly drought of the Sonoran summer.