The dead, alive

Rapid-cycling through the day is a poor way to live while dead

From the cyan sky to the pink downtown skyscrapers, to the sparse green trees to the brown dirt field and the white stucco of the neighborhood, a photograph shows the color gradations of the city of Phoenix.
What obtains from an image search for “Phoenix,” where the writer lives. The city gets 10 to 15 degree Fahrenheit hotter nighttime temperatures than the rural areas, & despite your best efforts, you cannot escape.
A soft yellow moon burns like an ember just behind a cloud’s moist-looking haze. It shines upon a body of somewhat choppy water, a reservoir amongst some apartment buildings, their lights reflecting across the shallow waves. Palm trees are dark silhouettes against the night sky. Some desert reeds fill the foreground at the bottom of the frame.
Photograph taken in between writing stanzas of the poem that follows. It is not definable but it is likely water that sustains the vaguely Martian-looking reeds in the foreground.

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