Dubai

In the desert a city stands
where wind once moved without resistance.

It rises from sand and intention -
glass towers, white curves of stone,
a shoreline altered by human will.

Looking at it, one thinks
how quickly a vision becomes architecture.

The great white structure near the water
opens like a shell or wing.
It seems improbable,
as if drawn first in air
and only later persuaded to exist.

Beside it stretches a long terrace of buildings
descending toward the sea,
their lights appearing one by one
as evening gathers.

Dubai: a place where ambition
has learned the language of height.

The towers climb deliberately.
The sea receives their reflections
and returns them in broken gold.

People walk along the shore,
stopping sometimes to look upward.
It is difficult not to feel
a certain admiration.

Yet the desert is still nearby.
Beyond the lights
there are distances without memory.

Perhaps that is why the city feels
both confident and provisional,
as if it were testing
how much brightness the night can hold.

Standing there I felt
not awe exactly,
but a quiet recognition:

that human beings, restless and unsatisfied,
continue to build these improbable places
against the emptiness.

And sometimes, briefly,
the result is beautiful.