This is when I set my alarm at 03.45.
This is when I go to bed and she
Says she'll stay up, setting hers at 09.00.
A relationship killer of sleep patterns.
But now...

The construction site is closed for Easter,
And all my time is mine for a week.
I'll have a beer or five each night.
I'll write a poem or five each night.
And when her alarm sounds
I'll remember my every dream, for once.

And I get to tuck her in, pour her a glass of water,
Kiss her forehead goodnight
And sit up, feeling how I feel my father must have felt
Keeping watch over a sleeping house; getting to rest alone.
But now...

I leave the door ajar, so I can hear her breathe.
I keep the kitchen lights on, in case she has to go.
I mute the TV and stop typing frequently
Because I think I hear her whimper in her sleep.

I could be a contemporary construction worker, a medieval farmer, a
Viking king or a caveman;

I measure my contentment by hers.
I measure my strength by her wellbeing.

She is a vacuum waiting
Not to form.