salt.

I have a wife made of salt.

We haven't made love

in 35 years-- it would ruin her.

I don't carry a picture of her

in my wallet, I can't stomach the questions.

Instead, I carry a picture of some woman

I got from a store-bought frame. Her

hair is brown. She looks

happy, and real.

My salt woman has tears like the sea--

I let them run down, I let them freeze.

I think she is brave-- my wife...she just looks

and looks and never turns around. Her sin was-

peeking behind her.