Emerged beyond the woods, always empty,
Windows facing the sea, a mystery
That deepened as the noises of your terror,
Dim rumors, of blood and ownership,
Whispered you were not allowed to stay
Though it was only you at the dry pool,
The bare cabana on the edges of the shore,
The furnished and deserted carriage house ...
It wasn't a dream, but a place of your own,
Isolé, those bodiless days, when the dogs
Had freed you from the need for it to mean.
You gazed without belief through wisteria
As though it had nothing to hide, no guile
To cruelly deny what you made of it.
The bees were free from the hives up the street.
The sun turned the chandeliers to gold.
What is it, now, that you were so afraid of?