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.