Some couples thrive in the woods of drama, 
foray with gusto into thickets of argument. 

Some relish the sharp 
cracks of lightning in a storm-dark sky,
being blinded to regain sight,

but Lord, I love that we are a shelter–
lush, leafy boughs, a canopy
against storms of career, of world.

You are reliable, I write.  
I imagine you laughing–Yep. I’m like an old car

but what I mean is–
the tenacity of a rooted oak against the wind,
the place where home is built.