A poem without a title

I wrote this one day when I was missing the desert, which I am doing often.

Sandstone scrubbing my feet below,

desert sun warming my face above.

Breather the heat

of ancient winds,

taste the lavender,

rosemary,

violet cliffs.

Breezes race and caress.

Sunrise greets,

awakens molten stone.

The stone watches, protects.

My desert,

my home.

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