the ghosts of love linger in
their heavy cloaks.
Here is where Mel and I pushed a dying car.
Here is where I snapped photos with Donna.
Here is where I tried to play the uke with Linda.
Mel, Donna, Linda
—the names are now just words
and distortions of something
The failure of the words to represent the love
like the failure of my heart to cultivate the love;
it is a heart that’s tried to throw the sword down
but still meets with the ghosts
of dead intersections,
each of us cloaked
in our own
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