v.

I didn’t want to bring in a camera.
I took it out of my bag,
and on that afternoon
I took your picture
with my eyes instead,
a slow blink burning you 
onto my mind’s negative.
I’d process you later,
mine to keep.

Suddenly, 
the door opened
and in came
an aromatherapist.
She dumped her case
of essential oils 
on your bed
and started laying them out
unbidden 
in front of you.
A brisk volunteer.
Jasmine.
Lavender.
Rosemary.
Lemon verbena.

My image wavered, and dissolved.
I went to the window,
and climbed up on the broad sill,
knees to chin.
I looked out over the car park.
Blue Summer sky.
White clouds.
Women in saris
getting out of a taxi.
The sandwich van.

My hands are the same as yours, before.
I placed one on the window,
cool glass to palm,
and looked at it.
I thought:
with hands like these,
I need no mind’s eye.

I picked up my cardigan,
grabbed my bag,
kissed you lightly
and left you
for the last time,
lost in a cloud
of wild rose.