so too winged Eros
but still, the still life of peaches
And now behind the glass
propped on a gilt chair
a framed oil
a luminous white house
(at double remove from me)
set in a sea of vast dark sky
of course I read into it
maybe there's a river
there is a hill
it isn't the house
but the suggestion
(this is the country!)
(everyone's dream!)
But that's later
the first time I walk by
the window is near empty
except for peaches and miscellany
(gamboling pastorale)
I peer in - dark
as always when I chance by.
I run into a friend
chance hugs and sparks
go down to the waterfront he says
see Winifred I think
and make my way down
slick sidewalk patches
icy steps
a promontory promenade
a stranger walking his dog
lovely Winifred
portrait in negative ambiguously smiling north
I look across the divided freeze
at doll-scaled Athens
gumdrop lighthouse crashed in the river
I head back
now in the window the chair and landscape appear
Why do I have such trouble with ambiguity?
The cowboy's gone too
but restless sleepers still thrash
and tonight past sunset
swathes of grey, black, backlit black peach light
looked like a Christina Hirsch
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