I find myself soul searching inside Cafes
As if to expect sitting there
The six year old who asked how the cricket sings
The two year old who could not be understood
And the first grader who'd just learned to fly

But every sip of coffee does not give something back
The records playing tug no inner chords
And the pages are as blank filled
As when the notebook was first opened

Strangers' eyes do not hold couplets
And their smiles are painted curves
Of chipping, fading memories