By Keith Hoerner
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 lives, teaches, and pushes words around in Southern Illinois. His memoir, The Day The Sky Broke Open, (Adelaide Books, New York/Lisbon) is out now.