The doctor
asks me
if I meditate.

He tells me 
it may help
alleviate
my anxiety
my (often) self-made
turmoil.

I smile.

“Sure,”

I say.

I meditate
in the mornings
when his
hand reaches
under 
the covers
for my own.

I meditate
under the rays
of the rising sun
as I
listen to his sounds
of sleep.

I meditate
in the smell
of his skin
on the constellation
of his sun spots
in the wrinkles
around his mouth
as he smiles.

"Yes," 

I continue.

"I meditate every day."

I meditate
to my heart’s song
and the rhythm
it shares with his.