The Maze Maker’s Wife

Our honeymoon weaved

from Hampton Court to the pavement

labyrinth of Chartres, then on to

the high hedged puzzle of the Villa Pisani,

where he delighted in my wrong-footed

confusion. All the while his notebook

overflowing with looped alleys, abrupt

dead ends, sly, coiling traps. Back home

I soon came to feel the practice

of his art, no day complete without

a fresh pattern of deception, cursed myself

each time he led me up the garden path,

for not seeing the straight and narrow

would never be enough.