is it the platitude of the high valley grown with
meadow flowers and endless beauty
or the valley desolate
strewn with rocks and rubble
or somewhere in the shadows awaiting
us to sneak up and grab her
between the highest peaks the valleys gorge
the mist filled semiphores the
closed callous alleys of the dead back city
the metaphors of black death lingering
it takes a poet
to change life into a
sunset
it takes words and meanings to give hope
to a lost freeway an overpass an
overgrown lot sitting vacant
and it takes human beings to actually feel
one  day for that
to overcome their own
biases their views and make
more stunning the next sunrise or dappled creek
the colors of an inner city come alive
with breath with attitude.