splinters survive

not that I wanted to
but many rotations
brought me to the
peek-a-boo places
where i saw wisps of your brown hair
on a barrista at the Coco Moon,
and the etching of your jaw
bounce by the window
on the face of
a back-pack man.

I want

to drink my coffee peacefully,
without
this

infant              ache
curled around my shoulders,
without
this
scraping hollow
gash within my chest.

the moon knows you somewhere,
and I need not think such thoughts,
but you just keep
walking out in front
of what I should have
left
behind,

pressing past
that cursed rear view
mirror,
ever weak
to keep and capture

something
such as you.