My dead lover’s lover
will visit me today. She
was one of a crowd,
invisible to me, ghosts
flitting through our rooms,
a glimpse, a hairpin
in the bed sheets,
an alien scent in the hollow
of his shoulder.
Our pasts unspool
behind us, already
obsolete, films
poorly edited, suffering
from murky narratives,
weak direction, too many
bad actors, too much left
on the cutting room floor.
What does forgiveness
cost?
[Click the image to see credits & larger sizes at flickr.]
Leave a Reply