My wife
my wife
my wife

a soft belly upon which I might rest my head

my wife
my love
my home

a joyful giggle upon which I might lay my days

my wife
my girl
my baby

a gentle hand upon which I might hang my world.

my wife
where are you?
and could you push against me enough
to keep me from melting in the rain like dirty old snow
and could we push against the evil enough
to keep this land from running down the gutter, shimmering with oily writhing, with bright plastic detergent bottles floating here and running aground there.