To the East: A Poem. Husband

We sit on a flight to Amman,

Amanoman and me.

How is it, Mr. Mystery, you manage to keep faith?

I marvel at the sight of you,

You who've stuck by me for more than a half-life, a quarter century plus. I still can't guess what keeps you, feet glued to the ground.

I fly around with fearful images, too dreadful to share, while you never blink,

Even as I think, dear god keep us from crashes and bombs.

I must rely on your strength because

My weakness is for drama.

Keep me, god, from going to the dark place.

My faith is only a word.

god.

My fear is something else.

You, husband, mystery beyond words,

must be my reason.