Liz in a back yard
sits on a stone bench;
we watch her from inside a house.
She is wearing
An unfamiliar flowered flannel shirt,
not her usual style.
There are flowers all around her,
birds and fruit in the trees,
like the unicorn in the garden,
though she is not fenced in.
Is Liz the unicorn?
Is she the Lady?
In any case, all animals love her.
The unicorn would put his head in her lap.
Flowers spring up in her footsteps
Venus Primavera
without the draperies.
We peer out the window.
She is gone from the bench.
She is not on a half shell.
We set out to look for her,
over and over,
the unicorn, escaped
the lady, flown,
the tapestry remains.
