In the Current

my wife's back turned to me
as she settles to sleep
shouldn't have meaning
since I'm not 15 anymore
analyzing every movement
and pulling apart flowers
she loves me, she loves me not

but lately
our arguments have been tsunamis
marred by the debris of others' lives
so I've been obsessed with knowing
what everything she does portends

her back
could be a wall
and I'd have to decide
to climb it like a vine
or turn away myself

her back
could be a sign of trust
since you never turn your back
to the enemy
and time has taught her
that I am with her
against this bitter world

her back
could just be what's behind her
and she's trying her best to face forward

and that is what I see tonight
she's trying to negotiate
the roiling currents of her life
trying to swim to me
even though I'm rough
and she gets slivers when she holds me

and I'm trying not to bob
too violently in the waves
for her to get purchase

and we're both tiny things
unnoticed by the ocean
so we turn to each other and talk
painfully, haltingly at first
then with increasing grace and candor

when at last we are done
the significance is clear
she turns to her side
I kiss the delicate hollow
between her shoulder blades
as I have so many times before

and I'm glad she reached for me
thankful for the breadth and buoyancy
of my body, lifting her up
to rest from paddling
to dry herself
to simply be

I bow to the universe
that has allowed us
to meet in the vastness
and travel along together

Ghazal for my Wedding Ring

my ring was lost a couple days
long ones because we were at odds

searching for it became a quest
to quash a more pervasive angst

that I might be the enemy
of my own contentment and joy

and much more significantly
the source of her unhappiness

my wife, from within her own pain
absolved me as a saint wouldn't

allowing the faults at my core
to just be cracks in the timbers

of a ship she still chose to trust
a leaky deck she stood upon

as always, defying the world
the mutinous new commander

charting the course when I lose it
refusing to let the sea win

by the time I found the damned thing
she'd reminded me why I wear it:

with her the stars are undying
for she personally lights them

to carry the both of us safe
back to the home we've created

Grace

grace in her fingers
her thoughts percussing
from keyboard to screen

grace in her colors
riotous pink hair
and splotches of alabaster
adorning her limbs

grace in the moment
when the teapot drags with exhaustion
but she lifts it anyway
to pour me a cup

grace in her shoulders
which will soften beneath my lips
when the work of the day is finished

it is then I will whisper a love song
to remind her once again of my reverence
for the woman whose every movement
lays grace upon my hearth

My Woman Made of Star Stuff

For Amie.

my woman made of star stuff
drops galaxies within me
where they burn and swirl in sync
with the rhythm of her step

my woman made of star stuff
catches the lamplight
in the crook of her elbow
inviting me to kiss her just there

my woman made of star stuff
wraps her lanky limbs
around my pudgy frame
and makes me beautiful

my woman made of star stuff
refuses, REFUSES to watch movies
in anything but their original format
going pink with passion explaining this

my woman made of star stuff
weeps with heartbreak
and honors me by letting me comfort her
when life flops to the floor in tatters

my woman made of star stuff
moves with sweet defiance
through a world of hostility
rather than hide in safety

my woman made of star stuff
drops galaxies within me
where they burn and swirl
and etch her name
into the fabric of my space
the breath of my time