Seems the world has already left for work,
so the neighborhood is mine
and the day is ripe for the busiest among us.
He’s already sleeping calm in the room
after finishing his shift at the ER.
I’m grateful he got home safe.
I don’t resist kissing his forehead,
tucking more autumn comforter around him,
for he’s all soft breath and flannel—
my sweet husband.
Bed is recovery for his body,
where he labors to regrow his soul
after holding death so often in his arms
and sitting with those who seek out prayer.
I have things to do, but he lures me in.
So I slide down beside him,
wishing dreams upon his stillness
to blanket our hibernation.