It wasn’t easy,
living with him,
his moody character
and need for privacy,
the all-night creative fits
while she tried to sleep.
She interrupted him
in the middle of a thousand poems
for household information,
invaded his reverie
on the pristine lakefront
as the view sung an ode
in his brain,
even conquered his triumph
over an elusive phrase
when she yelled up
for dinner.
But he clung to her,
his raft upon the whitewater swirls,
stability on the rumbling current
of perpetual thought.
Often, he floated alone,
submerged in foam,
gagging for the tangible
and she would grab a handful of hair,
yank his heavy head up.
They stumbled through silence,
blundered through varied perspectives,
yet when the river calmed,
they studied the stars
to find out exactly
where they were going.
Collage by Rebecca K. Brown
Smoky Quartz 