In a vacuumed slice of silence, under the stillness of night’s gossamer veil, I rouse her.
She takes my hand, as I guide her to the base of our garden’s Weeping Willow. To cry, perhaps…
Early morning darkness gives way to the ether of a reddening sky. I embrace her; there are—no more words. We cannot communicate the desire to root our union any further.
We struggle to breathe; the air is caustic, thin. The moon careens across a cracking sky. We kneel to the universe, faces in each other’s palms, eyes on each other’s desperate gazes… unspoken goodbyes.
Keith Hoerner (BS, MFA) lives, teaches, and pushes words around in Southern Illinois, USA.