or the boy's
(though it's dark (his face) and
I only get the impression of a smile--
miracles of art--) or
maybe it's the music I'm listening to
or my wandering eyes--
the young--is she young,
middle aged, seems slender;
she slumps like me,
except her gaze is slightly downward
(mine is up towards her)
--eyes?--where are the eyes?--
neither she nor he has eyes.
Why brood in the garden, slender woman, or drift,
as if Ophelia? The garden
is pasteled with beauty; his goose
isn't so into being held, prized.
I see love in those shadow eyes:
(eyes?): A new pet! The goose sees
death, or at least a bit of panic.
What saturated skies, what hair
in a tight bun, and oh!
the child on the mother's back!
What sound peaces,
even though we never see clearly
through the faces.