I watch my husband write this novel
which looks like a man
sitting at a computer
but inside he shudders
with the abyss of possibilities
animating ideas that perch on top of each other
amidst gusts of indecision
that constantly topple it all
starting over and over
trying to see underwater
pleading with characters
that don’t exist
to tell him
just a little bit more
and yet somehow
as he wrestles the ending
to the ground
he will show me the manuscript
and I will marvel
at how something as flat as paper
can hold such a huge and beautiful world.