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227

Mento Mori

Wayne Wolfson By

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For Maria Marquez

Yesterday, we drank wine, we danced.
Now, the bottle is empty, the band has gone home. Even the sad eyed girl has gotten married.
To lose your surroundings to familiarity is to live among ghosts.
The emptied pool, full of dead leaves where I practiced my horn.
Always in the end, solo. There were several notes, that is always best.
A long chain of good-byes dissolving into memory.

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