Or

Or perhaps life improves and so he doesn't write for days,
gets into law school, doesn't divorce,
walks the puppy and makes his wife tea when her throat goes sore.

Where's the story there? The sky gets lit up
with natural light and the earth keeps turning like a lonely child
until winter goes away. Almost done

with raining, he wipes his eyes, kicks his meds,
puts his old shoes on and runs a slow race
between two slow towns with his father-in-law and his father-in-law's

slow dog. Happy like a good dream but not even sleeping,
happy that last week he didn't take a drink
or a long step out the perilously open front door. He loves her

when he loves her and he loves her all the time
whether he gets to feel that or not.
Where's the story there? Each new page covers the previous page up

and, as the stack gets thicker, plot-lines get lost. Good.
It's good that they do.