He sees you around
every corner he turns.
There's the back of a head,
and the brown hair parts
the way yours does,
or your olive winter coat
with the fur-lined hood
breaks across his vision
for a split second.
Then the angle changes
and the heavens close
and the reflection is gone,
it is another woman,
another pitiful replacement,
another worthless excuse
for something he'll never own up to.

Turn left and there
you are again.
It's the laugh this time,
a slightly throaty trill
echoing in a happiness
that never covered the whole
range of sound.
Keep walking, and there ,
yes right over there,
are the eyes that brought down
the walls of Troy,
or the smile that murdered
God in his slumber.
There you are,
again and again,
again and again and again,
but he hasn't seen you in weeks.