A universe beyond.

From my desk, I hear the boomhum of a didgeridoo.
Of my wife's construction.
Otherworldly, homely, pvc pipe and wax,
swirling purple and pink paint.

I work on my accounts, the floor vibrating.

I look up from my book to the sound of a chime,
a Buddhist chant, the smell of candles,
my wife's secret room, shared with
the water heater.

I read my mystery, and smile.

My wife's dream, told while I pour my
morning coffee, (hazelnut creme),
a wild adventure, saving kids and cats,
told with unswerving enthusiasm.

I try to shake the fog from my brain.

Over the sound of the T.V.
C-span politics, I hear the flute,
A familiar tune she wrote early,
practicing her scales.

The cat and I listen intently from the couch.

My wife knits a thick blanket,
soft and pink and blue pastels,
counting stitches, and lost in
her spinning work.

I browse the net in peace.

My wife is lost in her story,
staring at the laptop,
making up exotic names
and alternate worlds.

I putter around the kitchen making dinner.

I live two lives in this one
mine is what it is, hers a universe beyond.