lost, but not lost as long as my memory holds it to its chest, the way I held you so often but never enough, from the beginning while dancing at that party, to the end while I waited for the sirens to come closer, to stop. I swear it was taken from almost the same spot as this one, only on a foggy evening when the birds were resting and the boats’ lights moved slowly on the river below, below the two of us, which is the real difference for me, us walking out of the picture and into the future, what there was of it, me in a suit, hat on my head. And you, yes, clearly beautiful beside me in the mist and night, a car-coat, a calf-length dress that the coat largely hid, making me picture your breasts, the space you shared with me further below, making me picture you holding me close the way you did so often but never enough, certainly never too much.

(after the 2021 photograph, “Porto, Foggy Days IV,” by Nuno Pestana Vasconcelos)