Broken Pottery at Dawn (Mexican Redux)

Black busts over a mountain ridge. We were shapes outlined against a midnight sky; faintly visible from the pale light of the rocket trails above. A warm lonesome breeze made the leaves whisper and sway overhead. Two figures treading water in the silence. Both alike, dreaming of things to come. One stood tall against the Hickory bark substantiated a tangible emanation of hope. The last lights of rocket’s reflection faded in his eyes and he glanced down at his companion. Seated with a posture native only to those born to wealth, the companion dreamt in the other direction. He remembered days of pickup football and dances long forgotten. His hot palms gripped the wheels of the chair firmly as if to steady himself in this time. Crickets sounded at their silence, and the stars shone pale like the last sight of a tired cowboy. They waited for an eternity straining in the echo of that last flight into space. A dark freedom came of this place. A new beginning for tired souls. Both thier paths destined for this quiet sea. Whether by science or religion, the difference was thinner than a playing card. This thought stuck on their lips, but a disturbance in the coliche below forced it back to the gut. A smile slipped into the starlight fading like the quiet sound of ice against a beading glass. Together, they looked back to the darkness covered by the warm desert night.

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