Over time my memory relocated us
to Palace Green. Perhaps it required
a dramatic backdrop, the open air
the library’s Short Loan desk lacked.
You wore a striped blazer in an ironic way.
I wore a long black dress, though it was spring
and the night that lay ahead perfumed
by the freesias you bought as we walked
up Claypath, you on short loan, something
my memory is powerless to change
except by not returning you.