I keep scrolling through my photos,
Hoping a new one will appear.
One from yesterday, taken right
Before I went to work.
And I remember saying,
After the photo was snapped,
“Tomorrow, we’ll have some
Fresh fish for your birthday.”
And as I left, you said,
“That will be nice.”
And we hugged
And both said, “Tschüss.”
But I only have this old one
Of you sitting next to the trail
Where we walked two years ago—
And another of your green-marbled tombstone,
Placed over that space between memory
And wholeness.
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