There is dirt
In the folds of her linen
I think she tore it
Playing in the brambles
I have been staring
At a blank sheet of paper
Worrying
The world is strange to me
It is strange to everyone
I hear her chuckle
A wonderful trilling voice
A little removed
Always close
Later we will wash
Our clothes
It always matters
That we are clean
It is a measure of sanity
I believe
She joins me at the sink
We will hang our clothes
Upon the window sill
Let them dry in the
Cool night air
When they are dry
We will hang them in our closet
There is so much work to
Do at home
We have to do it to stay alive
I hold her hand
And breathe
That is the hardest thing to want
All the only thing to need.
