Maybe I’m too far gone,
or maybe there’s nothing left
to explain. Some days
I have little hope
and others it glides towards me
like a ship on the cunning sea.
The people want another wedding.
Instead, I weave them a story
about the horizon. They’re waiting,
like all of us, to see how it ends.
I haven’t said your name in years,
but remember how your palms
opened a bulb of garlic.
Before you left, you asked me
who I’d marry if you died.
My response astonished you.
You’ve been away
a long time—maybe too long.
But I have this feeling
you’re still out there,
that my answer,
one time or another,
has saved your life.
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