The evidence of her joy is clear
in the photos they took of each other
on the water
on the mountain tops
on that fallen sycamore so old or so heavy
it had to come down and block the trail,
which is sort of what happened
when she learned
she was not the right size after all—
that her form was too female
too wide for such a narrow idea of beauty.
And what the photos don’t show
is his inability to see the needle in the haystack
even when his arm
is wrapped so tightly around it.