Flagstaff
is ancient fire of volcanic eruptions
those were extinguished
at the loneliness of the cold's time,
turmoil ghostly of buffaloes in stampede,
of tribes arriving with the wind,
of stars fallen digging the ground
and destroying the giant beast
that frisked and ate grass on the prairies.
Flagstaff is water lapping,
the sites of lakes and dams,
supply of rivers and streams,
it's life flowing the valley lands.
It's Flagstaff
the smell of ponderous resin
that wanted to build its nest
on the summit like proud eagle
and it likes to live
between the enchantment
of sunflowers,its yellows,
its violets and its pinks feverish
and is addicted to the railroad noise.
Flagstaff is history,
is night of moon bright,
it's cold winter and tribes in liberty,
it's culture,
it's tulip,
it's sleeping volcanic
it's past,
but also is palpitating present.