Desert night--
moon alights on still palms;
City lights
cannot reach the depths
of the expanse but yet
pale stars.
The monsoons have come and gone;
there is no poetry of rain
and the air is still--
Still, but devoid of silence.
Men sit on their porches
sweating and smoking,
complacent and cursing.
The road roars
of constant traffic.
The smoke has fouled the air;
the city has drowned the night.
No birds, no wildlife--
only somewhere a cicada drones.
Phoenix, I have seen thee burn,
flames into ash
in glory of red skies
and streaming faces.
Can I hope for thee to rise,
to take flight?
Dare I hope to see
emerging
Life?
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