in the bookstore
sit a stack of two
illustrated editions,
nestled together.
we had trekked, a year
or two ago, around
every shop in London
to track them down.
and here they are,
not one but
two.
identical sisters.
I stand staring
in the cold.
they rest, watching,
warm through the window.
I should buy you a copy
but I don’t.
I want them,
long after I leave,
to remain together.
