Rilke. Clara knows from her Wakefield Libraries badge that girl’s name is Lyn but she will call her Rilke. Rilke. Lyn a beat, Rilke a pulse. This must be her day off.
She spends anxious hours
leaning at her window
all on edge,
like greyhounds folding
their legs as they lie down
Deep in her room, the bed,
she leans at the avaricious window.
After the night of abandon,
this heavenly girl, in her turn,
Clara realises she is conflating Rilke, the girl too.