I'm supposed to love
plaid and raincoats
hunting, fishing
the woods

and I feel comfort in those
things, I do
they are home to me
home to me and
anything, but you.

I don't know what you believe
about God and hope and love
(surely you must believe in love)
you are so loved
and wanted

and you
comfort me in ways
the forest cannot
and big gardens
and burnt red barns
and pastures full of calves and running horses
cannot thrill me
Oh, darling


And I will never tell a soul it's you.