My husband is always leaving, even in my dreams.
When he’s not leaving, he’s working,
his face turned inward, away.
I try to survive by saying goodbye,
when it would be so much sweeter to say hello.

Maybe he’s afraid of losing his job,
or he’s lost in his hopes for the future.
Or maybe I’ve always felt lonely, as well as alone,
happy in woods or water, but wary of people,
grateful for anyone’s fleeting interest.

I delight in this man who shares my heart,
but I often fear joy and love will disappear,
as they did when I was young — falling down
and climbing back up — some tear-shaped me inside of me
claiming a place no one can touch,

in love with life but afraid to ask for too much.