In the Desert

The new year came in,

with bursts of light across the city scape,

like a flock of birds rising 

from the ashes of Phoenix's horizon.

We, and the cacti, watch the fireworks 

and cheer,

and it begins to rain.

We climb down the mountain and I comment

on the new year's dreary, drenched arrival 

but she says that in the desert, 

rain is a good sign.

And when I get home where the roads are slick 

and the news pours in,

I pretend I'm in the desert 

where gray skies mean something bright and green is on its way.

It's just pretend, though;

it's freezing cold outside.