Photos

the photo of you where you’re fat,
in the cloisters of durham cathedral,
wearing that awful blue wax jacket.

your hair this spinstermesh
and your hands clasped
on the cuffs of your sleeves
like a surfacing mole.
I still feel the tension in your neck.

the photo of you with the sorbonne
as your backdrop,
with your chic brown scarf
and your face making dust live
and book print smell of jasmine.
the beauty in it a full stop
to everything that was ever written.

I love you more at durham,
but I never loved you less anywhere.
how can it come
to be? look at the passing cars.

look at the streets in the background
when you were still there.