Life Is the Making of Ghosts

But what is there to forgive?
Life is the making of ghosts, perhaps,
for all of us, in one way or another.
If I hadn’t moved all those times,
someone else would have —
a best friend or a solid neighbor,
my world sliding down like a sandcastle,
even as I stayed in one place.
Houses move on around us, too,
only frozen in time if we have that
snapshot moment, from the car
pulling down the driveway,
watching the garage door close
one last time.

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