It was I think a small town in Ohio
I taped to the wall above my office desk the postcard
Of Klimt’s painting called The Park
An example of cliché so profuse it touched my heart
Consoling me each time I turned my glance to its
Storm of tiny moth-sized leaves shimmering over all but the bottom
Ribbon of the canvas where the rows of the trunks individuate
The mass of the pulsing foliage above
A figure in a kimono or a robe so lush it too seems foliate
Stands apart from two other figures similarly dressed
But (the two) huddled closely together & moving off the sheer
Right edge of the canvas
& the solitary figure remains oddly hesitant & indistinct
& pensive although
Perhaps she is simply realizing that she does not wish to go
Where all of the others wish to go