In Freedom, Emptiness

The horizon drew from the sky and the shadows turned to dust. He sat there upon a rock, coaxing the final chords from his guitar and humming along in raspy timbre. I could barely make out his frail figure in the weak blush of the dying fire, but I could see his head was cocked and his long, black hair was draped over most of his face, concealing the scars. As we sat there in the pregnant stillness of the desert, I couldn’t quite steady the shaking of my hands or calm the pulse throbbing in my ears. Days had gone by since he told me of his intentions and fear still clashed with devotion, but I knew there was no more to say. Without a word, he stood and stretched, raising the guitar above his head. He stamped out the fire with a twist of his heel and proceeded toward the Jeep, parked adjacent to the now dismantled canvas tent. Mutely, earnestly taking his cue, I gathered up what was left scattered about the campsite and piled it into the backseat. In meek, measured steps, I made my way toward him through the tomb-like obscurity and embraced him closely for a lingering moment. We were brothers of a different sort. All of our trials had brought us to this austere conclusion. And now, we took our seats. My conscience nipped at the back of my ears. A dusty storm of warm night air swarmed about the open cabin of the Jeep as the moon looked on in silence. Clutching the wheel tightly, squinting vaguely in the dim glow of the clouded headlights, I drove on. “You know it’ll be okay”, he said softly in that hoarse whisper of his. “Yeah”. As we rolled to a stop beside a family of decaying cacti, I released my grip and unlatched the seat belt. I took his hand tightly, breathed, and let go. We walked in diplomatic resignation through the desert sand. The words of his song resounded between my ears, but gone was the throbbing pulse and the heavy chest. Gone, too, were the spiders that crawled in my stomach – evaporated with the smoke of closure. I plopped down on the ground and sat cross-legged facing him. With a wink and a nod, he dove backward off the rim of the canyon.

Here I Thought Me a Tower

Here I felt the ocean tide caress each speck of sand
As it slid further and further away
Receding to the far reaches of nowhere and who cares
Each new word like a grain of salt
Dispatched in brevity from my restless tongue
Succinctly to fall upon humble feast
Repugnant and astringent

Here I held myself a fence of iron
Or a box or the string of a kite
That once again my eyes could see
Here I reveled in insipid vacuity
Cool and stale in monotone costume
Here I found solace in ticking clocks
And an empty mug beneath the coffee

Here I thought me a tower
But with the idea of you
I’m no longer so sure