It is his loneliest painting.
The windows are yellow
with warmth, but no one can
be seen in them. And there is
no one outside, walking the path
or standing on the canvas-wide
expanse of grass. Off to the left,
another structure, a small house
or a garden shed or the garage
attached to this house, just the roof
and a bit of white wall. In front
of it, obscuring all but that bit
of white wall and roof, he has
placed a shrub as though he
wanted to cover over a mistake,
a failed figure, two failed figures.