I LOOKED FOR YOU

I looked for you when sleep was easy,

and dreams were indistinguishable

from waking hours.

In every chrome cafe juke box

and gleaming coffee machine

that poured promise of Italy. On every bus

that dropped victims at the factory; and every

pair of shoes not brown.

 

I looked for you in the rusted framework

of old industries; in tab-collar shirt

holding a pair of pliers. In welded steel and long hours.

And every wildflower that grew on derelict sites.

 

I looked for you in a knock at the door, gaps in

conversation, and every temptation

that exposed my weakness.

 

I looked for you after the flood,

when mud washed away the mountain,

making mockery of my map; and white

was the only colour before black.

 

I looked for you when they announced your

name, but you never came.

 

I looked for you the day after the revolution

was televised. In wet cement, before

it became a permanent monument

to still-life. In the scriptures after it was proven

there is life after death.

 

And saw you in the last gasp of my final breathe.