Photography by Quentin Bacon When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d, And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night, I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, And thought of him I love. —Walt Whitman, “When Lilacs Last In The Dooryard Bloom’d” I find myself sometimes thinking of Walt Whitman when I’m scrolling around on Tinder before slowing to a halt yet again from the ennui that settles in as the replacement for longing. What would…