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.
5 hours ago