perpetual stew

i add garlic to the noise.
five fingers. your pocket acorns
from a walk without the moon.
we drive again through the corn fields.
i want someone to call on the phone.
for them to crawl through 
the receiver & hold me like
a worry stone. you come home late
& the room is dark. i hear you move
through the guts of the house.
wonder if you are not you
but some intruder. i would have
no method of resource. i go back asleep.
online there are people making
perpetual stews which are just 
simmering pots of meat & onions & worry.
i have enough stew to deal with 
but i do not mind watching theirs.
thick brown broth poured from a ladle.
every once & awhile it will look delicious.
of course it is dangerous. a breeding ground
for all kinds of bacteria or whatever 
but i don't like to think about that.
i like to witness what the online people
who i guess are also real people somewhere
are doing with their hands. 
we all need a vessel to tend & 
our own is also a hazard. stew of my heart.
stew of my dreams. i pick wild onion.
a pocketful of sage from the bush
by the well. swallow it all & weep. 
it is you in the dark & i know by
your soft voice. you empty your pocket
on the nightstand & join me 
in the night's broth.