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Desert Bazaar
There has yet to be a
pitter patter
Still the air is cool
There has yet to be a
drop of rain
Still the dams must
hold
Still there is a haze but
if you hold your neck up high
this night you are a jeweler and
can count your newfound fortune
when the golden sliver
retreats and glinting silver
creeps across the
expanse of unmade
glass.
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I was in a Hotel overlooking Petra in Jordan. the poem wrote itself.