what is simple? if i look at you
and see peace, and affection, and fulfillment,
can i choose that? can i opt in
to a new dream if it belongs more to you, but
i see it clearly every night?

what is ease? if in touching you
i make you say my name, if in loving you
i make us both insular and wrapped
entirely in the possibility of us,
can i make that come true
even when i have never loved anyone else?

what is new? if this is foreign, is it
just another path i can choose?
you leave me guideposts and lanterns:
would i be foolish to ignore
what is so clearly etched with my own progress?

touch me here in the forest, set my feet
on the trail you know: i hear you,
i sing your descant. and if
you are quiet where i am used to volume,
and loud where my instincts go dull, i may
accept this as portion of the new view:
this mountain, this sunset, and you.