On the far side of pleasure

On the far side of pleasure   I sit on the couch   it’s 2:50 a.m. and I hear him walk through the hall to pee   I close my eyes and hear a terrible pounding of keys   a fever of gardens in this triangle of a house   outside and everywhere   stores empty of disinfectant   bodies eaten by the sun   a low hum beneath the sink   in consonance with the clouds I’m called to climb   but instead crawl to our child and pick them up   gently they hold my grief and whisper go   as I run with them toward the sea