Unlike some rust-stained photos of Bacon,
the studio a shambles much like the Blitz,
nothing could be further from London than a shoulders-and-head shot
Ted Roethke carried all the way back to Saginaw in the lower peninsula.
The marquise blurred in the background
and the whole of it bathed in a pale blue
the way Deakin framed the eternal last shot.
Could it have been Waterloo or the Victoria station before the mist settled?
Was it mid-April?
Suddenly the student who lost her life thrown from a horse lives.
The camera points in another direction.
The greenhouse remains silent and empty.