by Richard Dinges, Jr

After each visit,
she fades behind me.
Merging into traffic
after a brief glance
in rearview mirror,
I know she has already
forgotten I was there.
Each visit a moment
when a couple ghosts
clinging to our bones
stubbornly resist
a final farewell
in hopes we will
meet again and she
will know my name.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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