it’s not some photo pinned in a frame
which hangs by the door slowly collecting dust.
it’s not found in memory from last we spoke
when she stormed out on us.
and not this face
in the mirror
with large hazel eyes
which stares blankly back at me.
lately it feels like swimming through fog
when all of my senses are numb.
striving to plumb subterranean motives
in the darkest depths of one.
and despite serious searching
“it” forever
eludes me, piece
by subtle piece.
