The park was very large. We drove
for some time through a beautiful wood
until the wood ceased, and the house came into view.
Inside were miniatures, small faces
we gawked at until a housekeeper showed us
the master’s finer portrait in an upper room.
I dredged up a shaming moment:
you asked me a question, then ducked as I spewed
an idiot’s vitriol, blindness disguised as rage.
The house stood well on rising ground,
and beneath its slopes the thirsty couples
held their glasses high at Café Can’t Wait.
I spent time at its flimsy tables
but then I walked under trees whose leaves
exhaled gusty stories of good deeds;
I learned empty houses are excellent teachers;
I sent you away and felt you grow
tremendous in your absence. Ask me again.