Rhythm

We have a rhythm;

you know my waking,

hear my breathing change,

feel the weight lift from my side

of the bed; no matter how gently

I rise, you know that I’ve left,

and you follow me.

But you sense when I need 

to keep sleeping, slip out so that 

though your moving rouses me, 

I am able to tumble back to 

dreaming.  In anticipation 

of a morning habit, you make 

my coffee an hour later 

and gently nudge me,

though I am already awake, 

knowing you’ll be coming.  

I know when you

are feeling ill, when your body

aches in some new way,

when you’ve worked too long

or read too much on the computer;

I know exactly that place on your

neck that needs attending,

and I start a warming bath,

sprinkle in some fragrant salt.

You know when my 

emotions are raw, when I 

have slipped a little into 

that depression that comes 

on every so often, and you 

gentle your speech, handle me 

with special care, do the dishes 

so I can rest.

Our love is seasoned,

continues to deepen, and gives 

this life such sweet meaning, 

a blessing that lingers mellow,

like a distilled fragrance

or the tender echo of a cello.

—C.L. Fisher, August 2020

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