Our love took sick in Louisville with a whimper. Died in Knoxville without a sound. Its ghost wanders in the mountains of East Tennessee looking for the Carolina border like a lost cub scout separated from his pack. Ghosts have no sense of direction and can’t hold a compass besides.
Matt was born and raised in NY state and presently lives in Dark Corner, SC.
Love the evocation of a wounded animal or small child. I find it begrudgingly tender … and sweet!
Yes, the ghost of love is indeed aimless. Nice job.
Thank you