Eighty Degrees at Dawn

The last few neighbors find beds
quail under mom
skink on a rock
Sun through Joshua spikes lights fruit.
This is a jubilee year.
Dew on Desert Rose
drips past thorns and leaves
to moist roots locked in Caliche.
Mist made taller by the mirage
gently, slowly fades
’til petals apart reveal a melting heart.

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