He looks for her everywhere,
in every window,
in each rain puddle, splashing.

Every day he notes the calendar,
hopes against hope,
fantasizes their future happiness.

She is too elusive
and he knows
he will not ever truly have her.

He forgoes having her for his own
and settles for the act of seeing her
or, maybe, seeing where she’s been.

He thought he saw her where
the crescent moon kisses its own reflection;
she had gone though she powdered her nose first.

© 2014 BBLAKEY

Word: Luminous
Photo: (part of the) Private Moon Project (by Leonid Tishkov)
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