In the morning
The house whispers me awake.
The stream in a painting burbles silently.
The sky over mountains in another remembers dawn.
When he’s gone
And I wake
Life wraps more closely around me.
The dogs move from the foot of the bed.
They press their weight against mine without asking.
When he returns
And we wake
Life will relax to make room for us.
The paintings will frame our world.
I will feel his weight next to mine and hear him thinking.