Years go by and all your loves devolve into a composite,
Passing on timeâ€™s travelator, gliding to a terminal,
Never to be seen again and you watch from Security,
Frisked as though this stood for sex, this stood for intimate.
Ghostsâ€”and you are ignorant of exorcism rites.
Whenever youâ€™re entangled in some temporary angel
Comes the shadow of another love: a flicker of a dimple
Or the first arrested syllable of laughter soft as promises.
You meet her in Departures after half a decade lost
And itâ€™s no longer her but her extrapolated. Someone
Calls her overâ€”time to make the planeâ€”and flings
A prophylactic glance at you, you melancholy revenant.
Copyright © Patrick Chapman 2007