This is Dedicated

I remember that look.
These are the histories.

It pulled us together
and the whole bar clapped.

And your hand on the beach–
were we ‘shrooming, I think?

The way you looked at your hand,
you looked at me.

I say your name
in my head, not aloud.

Is that
allowed?

To keep a place for a ghost
in this tidy house?

 

 

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