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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