She’s mentally moving him in, refreshing
the drawer of cotton undershirts, stacking
his tees in rectangles, ironing polo collars.
His irises will glow again as sapphire and
jade waves of shirts layering the marriage
quilt. She’s moving over, moving over to
her own side of the bed. They’ll fuse their
divided ship, co-captain it. Yet she’s been
steering without him around iceberg teeth,
her sweet boys clicked into their car seats.
Steadying their rudder against a profound
blindness, snow blowing over onyx water
to sky, she holds hope he’ll return as kids
waive their flags. She passes night to day
praying they both awake to more sunrises
together before entering Heaven’s forever.
They are ringed lovers, joined from inside.
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