Still haunted,
Time changes nothing,
Even seeing her
In the flesh after a year
Pealing the scab
From a wound I thought healed
Raw again, bleeding
Made worse by the rage
I see roaring in her eyes,
Only hinted at in poems,
All of it a fantasy,
The illusion I’ve created
Reading into the tea leaves
What I ached to see
the grim at the bottom
of Harry Potter’s tea cup,
I am the ghost
On this Halloween,
Haunting myself,
As we both
Struggle to know
What love is, or should be, yet isn’t,
lost here in a deep fog
out of which faces like hers emerge,
too close, too often for me not to react to.
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