Next to the lake
where I will
eventually drown,
I hear echoes
of what you said then
as if they were mine.
Phrases formed and
familiar enough
to resemble our kiss,
if there had been a kiss.
Something I wrote,
or said, returns softened
enough along the edges
of the dark water’s
crumbling definitions:
a twilight like memory
which slowly diminishes
into the night lingering
only in the dim stars
reflected across the lake.
(April 7, 2023)
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