Untitled #7

a flowering garden,
in Vienna, could there really
have been such a place
a peaceful afternoon, the end of summer
a few red hollyhocks, delicate flower beds, a gathering
of golden sunflowers
sitting on the left a young
woman, dark-faced, wearing a white hood
above her head green waves
of luxuriant climbing vines
on her lap an open book
large, thick, with metal bindings, but what she is reading
we will never know
quiet hands
finish knitting a white
wool stocking
she married a few months ago
one more day
like a cut half
of a fragrant juicy yellow pear
with dark brown seeds
she sits in the tiny garden, in Vienna, in front
of her home
in an ordinary blue dress, her head
bowed