Petrichor

When rain returns
to drought-weary
deserts, the earth
signals its arrival:

a scent released
from sun-blazed sand
& chaparral
rises like praise—

nature’s censers
perfuming arroyo
sanctuaries—
where ocotillo,

blossom-less, dry,
reach spiny arms
to skies, as thirst,
their prayer, is answered

once sheet-like clouds
stretch shade 
before the sun’s 
fiery defiance; 

a fragrance light 
as a breeze, pure 
as god-blood, cleansing 
like baptism: a blessing

short-lived. This scent
my ancestors sought
for survival,
revives in me,

no matter the distance,
my withered sense
of home & makes
it whole again.