Joshua Tree

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The news delivered over fibers of light sends me reeling onto the deck drink in hand where I gaze at an infinity of stars flickering their message from the depths of time and remember a night in a different place under different stars when we were young and it was your idea to look for the spot where friends of your favorite rhinestone cowboy had committed him to his rest and I thought you were crazy but agreed because you said you knew someone who knew someone who had been there and had given you a map drawn on a napkin and I told you to bring something warm because it gets cold when the sun goes down and we hit the road early and waited out the heat of the day in the shade of sand-colored boulders that began to glow and feeling shy I made us something to eat and tea with mushrooms which I made you drank even though it made you gag and we watched as the first stars like jewels began to emerge against a blue-black sky until I stood and pointed at an outcrop in the distance and off we went laughing like fools over the rocky terrain until you stumbled and gouged your shin blood everywhere and you got scared and I said climb on and we stumbled back to the camper your arms around my shoulders and I set you down on the foldout bed and cleaned and bandaged your wound while a little embarrassed you kissed my face and we played canasta the only card game we both knew until in the early hours of the morning we fell asleep in each other’s arms as the moon floated over the Joshua-studded desert.