desert home

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The desert sometimes feels like home. Its quiet soul runs hot and cold like a day of Spring at sunrise and Winter at sunset.

I am lost in sand and storms, face wrapped tight with linen cloth, knowing that when the wind clears and the sands fall, I will know that death stood waiting to bury me beneath home.

The horizon turns white. I am still here, unwrapped.

 

© zaji, 2016

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