The Palace of Eight Pleasures

After spending three years to get there,
It loomed just across some final alleys,
Then a few coins to the boatman,
And an hour in the pushing drift of downstream.

I put my foot on the first steps of the dock.
At the ascent I took off my shoes,
And walked barefoot over the green and cypress lawn.
This is the custom.
The marble and blue and gold lettered estate
Grew from the distance of miniature
To the only thing on my face.

After these three years, I was let inside
To spend a month in any time or room.
The Eight Pleasures washed my feet,
And perfumed my shoulders.
I was carried from one villa to the next.
Endless dinners followed by other endless things.
There was no reason to end anything.
In the morning they opened the windows.
From the long beds you could watch
The servants tending the grounds.

When I left all of my things were gone.
I wore a robe on the walk to the river.
A different boat pulled me back upstream.
My shoulders were still perfumed in that boat,
And my feet had been washed clean.

I thought of the pleasures.
There were eight of them, yes.
They mingled in the rooms until you were sure
You had slept with them all.
They pushed and were jealous.
But there was time enough for all things.

As my feet walked over the stones of the alleys,
I knew I had been mistaken.
In the berths of all the pleasures,
I had never found a joy,
But came closest in leaving and smiling
At the neatly planted rows
Of nameless flowers.