We Don’t Have to Go Too Far

We don’t have to go too far.

We can go on the trail behind that farmers’ market

while people are still sleeping.

You will reveal your worries to me

among the mists and frosts.

If this were summer,

we’d have to stop

to get those bugging gravels out of our sandals first.

We don’t have to go too far.

We can take a different turn downtown by the water and

sit on that wood bench

where the moss is probing from its cracks.

I have my oat latte; you have your tea.

I will read you my poems while

the waves and the lighthouse are framed by

the arch of two golden cherry trees.

We don’t have to go too far.

We can make a bonfire in the backyard

after we finish supper.

We will sing some songs that have

traversed the sea. Otherwise,

we shall remain silent, only

breathing with the staggering full moon and

the rising and falling of your head on my shoulder.