(in Tucson)
The water smells their beer breath
as they splash in a pool of stars.
The breeze - a fragrant flower wreath,
the scents entwine.
The flickering lights reach out,
flying,
to me, to the moon, and to far-
thest reaches of reason.
The path - a crunchy pretzel,
which winds and unwinds,
sneaks around bushes which crunch and munch,
frolic, and try to tease a lonely pole.
There, beyond the pool,
in the plain dirt of the hill
it stands
and it's flag sways to the breeze,
"Nothing stands still".