she was there

glowing
looking at me and
through

holding the son; 
the repair: 

blue and white
hair the color of -
there aren't words
she was she
and me and all in;

holding him
i crossed over
the waning crescent,
held and stroked.

nothing was asked of me
I was present -
I was:
and she loved
and that was all that was.

"Does she have a name?"

no name, yet.
she wasn't there for
introductions

she was there to
show love
to offer
to nurture

and I 
to receive.

Meditate

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.