I find you in ordinary objects, in
extension cords running across my carpet and in the
3 A.M. blinking of a traffic light on the corner of that intersection I take every day to get home
stop. go. stop.
I find you in the thread count on my pillowcase.
365. Threadbare. Your fibers
stretch across
the tile floor of a Wendy’s when I’m too tired to cook for myself because
I’m tired of you being gone.
Gone into the wind that never swerves my way again
In the veins of a brown leaf floating through the air.
I see you in extraordinary things, when someone asks me to dance and I blink the tears from the corners of my eyes and try to think about how unremarkable the buttons on a TV remote look.
I see you in the copper door I went down once to get a drink to wash you away – but you resurface in roadside drains and the fog in my bathroom mirror. You resurface in my breakfast cereal and the pedals of my car and when that other boy looks in my eyes and sees the word no.
I find you in lost laughter and the warmth seeping from an embrace. In the shoelace of my brother’s Nike’s.
I find you in the rain that never happens and the storm that always comes. I find you in all these things because I’m broken that I lost you.