February eleventh, Footprint Center breathes,
last light before the break, a red orange sea.
Thunder rolls in, the night is loud and clean,
the schedule’s ink says: play.

Devin Booker’s ankle, Jalen Green’s hamstring,
Grayson Allen’s knee, threads in the training room.
Jordan Ott keeps the compass steady,
asks for boards, for edge, for belief.

But shots rained the wrong way, a long storm,
the score tilting hard as the third quarter turned.
Dillon Brooks fought, the crowd kept hands aloft,
yet the margin widened.

Still the valley keeps its ember, 32 wins and counting,
a pause, a breath, a promise to return.
We write it in warmups and in echoing halls:
the sun comes back.