Classic Poem

Once cradle of civilization -
now crucible, a sandstorm of tanks,
a battery of rocket-launchers
each one bright as a guiding star
slams home to its birth place, sand sprites
leap dervishly, limbs gad about,
horses buckle back upon themselves -
empty out like exhausted bellows.
A beggar (in nameless rags) calls
out in either prayer or curse to
the desert night first refuge for saints;
Cross and Crescent belch fire.