In the garden: a corroded Poseidon, so much
smaller in bronze, lazily allowing his trident
to drop from his hand. Weeping trees
from every continent and a sanctuary of birds.
Scent of copper-tinged water, the applause of grass.
We should hope to remember
the strange carriage house
occupied with crystal chandeliers
and the odd hanging mirror doubling it,
or the long arbor consumed
by tangled branches so deeply greened
they keep the cobbled walk free of snow
all mild winter. These gardens
were designed by the lover of an oilman,
but does that pause you as it does me?
This hot afternoon let’s discover
the pleasure of the sudden coffee shop no one
had ever heard of. Traveling
from family to family, though
in a scheme we choose a maze
for ourselves and enter with a dog named
for the shadows following us opposite the light.
To solve the puzzle, we will search several hours
for questions and then answer. There is no time
for the mystery, but maybe
the one tree on the hill—already without leaves—
will allow itself onto the trail for us to approach.
Nearby, a spider suspends between corn tassels
above our heads, luring a high airplane
into its fragile web.