You’re worried, so you wake her
& you talk into the dark: 
Do you think I have cancer,
you say, or Were there worms
in that meat, or Do you think 
our son is OK, and it’s 
wonderful, really—almost 
ceremonial as you feel 
the vessel of your worry pass 
miraculously from you to her— 
Gee, the rain sounds so beautiful,
you say—I’m going back to sleep.