In the pulsing heat,
in the black cathedral of war,
the amber-tinted silver
of infra-red
illuminates a man.
Nimble in the moment
between the squeeze of the trigger
and the crack of the rifle,
he crouches and fires:
stalker and stalked at one
in the fluttering night.
Quickly,
the breath still held,
a song arises, unbidden and sweet,
and the pulsing heat and the heart conspire
to draw from the murmuring air
an echo, smiling,
of a fond face.
Drawn on the rim
of this well of resonance
in the foul, sweltering dark,
other forms come forth, insistent,
trembling too
for song.
But tensing toward them,
at the start of recognition,
the ragged edge of hope,
his heart bursts,
the song dies.
Will Hemmer is a retired college math teacher. After retirement, he was a play producer in Los Angeles. He produced seven plays and two concerts (he’s also a pretty good singer), then the money ran out. Will studied creative writing with Glover Davis at San Diego State, and poetry writing at UCLA.
