mary is the paperwork                   is a woman                   goes on                   into freedom  

dark streets                       on the lacerated        local history      

against         slightly braced shadow                  

of the photographs     she likes it                           she is only        

the woman with the dream exposed                                   in tweed              this place          

looking for her                 coffined or the coffee                                   rests where the ghosts                               

told her to          still lets herself               sign on                  wears barely   not even             

movements hornrimmed                          about a woman              her body              homeless 

likes to library                  among her Southwark                 her name 

a film printing                   apparently herself                         she’s her pride                her faces lightly 

1972                       walk the fingers              accessioning tea           the year is boast           

she’s a glass   and the mark is archivist                           as white as paperwork 

was new once