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The couch rises a few inches, drifts sleepily past.

The book you laid on the coffee table lifts—the coffee table too.

All the accoutrements of a marriage float—we’re in no danger.

They bob with ease and humble elegance—

my shoes, the television set, pictures of the children, our bedding.

And sparkling upward, the lost earring I’d fretted over.

I open my hand and it wafts onto my palm.

I turn and you are here, beside me, navigating this life.

Mid-current we gaze toward an oil slick. It does not break apart,

sink, or dissolve. It has found some anchorage amid our days—

work, appointments, plans, your cancer, my fears.

This morning, we do not mention the dark stain awash with us

as the couch nudges the back of my leg for attention,

as you hold out your cup. As coffee—sweetened—

floats effortlessly to my lips.