The dirty clouds flare yellow and orange
with city lights bouncing over the black
mountain into our quiet valley.
If this was somewhere else in the world,
think fire and murder ruling over there,
that, amid such destruction and death,
no one making love, no one
snoring in sleep's sweet oblivion,
that people couldn't be laughing in parties,
that there were no parties,
not one single thing to celebrate,
and none were driving home after dancing
in clubs, music still hot in their blood,
the night's light aglow in their eyes.