Poem: Those Places Were Ours

Those Places Were Ours

Deep down ours,
not simple, not a today thing:
was memory, history,
was more.  Home,
yes, but that is not enough,
I don't think, might be 
insufficient.  It was
ours.  I felt it,
always, knew
the floors, the walls,
knew, too, the past,
any ghosts here
were our ghosts,
were of us.  It was haunted,
I suppose, was alive
with those of the past,
at least to me.
Now, it will be gone,
will be a place
where I cannot return.
I do not know 
what that will mean.
How can I know
what always seemed
too impossible?

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