The cemetery
Is almost empty today,
And anyway, it’s empty
Of you. All cemeteries
Are empty of you.
I visit them anyway.
What a word, that: anyway.
Tired, insouciant, suggestive,
Like me when you first claimed me,
Like you when you’d been drinking.
We connected and dissolved
At that intersection when
We could each go any way.
True. Anyway, I miss you.
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