I don’t see you dangling in the distance,
rising in unfettered crowds, enveloped by
a smoky steel blue haze, with melancholy
jazz instrumentals, riffing with hot licks.
Your face no longer lingers in the shadow
of the hollow moon; the crease from your
furrowed brow has softened, now that your
reflection has disappeared from my morning
coffee. Once the one and only, the yearning
to see only me in your eyes has faded to a
distant, jaded memory. The cracks and crevices
of your chiseled face have slowly melted, replaced by
these proverbial weathered lines, leaving only
empty spaces, open holes, where life bone-sucked
you dry. Tomorrow remains uncertain, but for now,
there is only now, and words, emptying into these
fractured lines, buried in a dustbowl of memories.
Jill Rachel Jacobs is a Pushcart nominated poet who poems have been featured in Varnish Journal, The Tower Journal, Muddy River Poetry Review, Lost Coast Review, Ygdrasil: A Journal of The Poetic Arts, The Screech Owl. Ms. Jacobs publishing credits include The New York Times, The Boston Globe, The San Francisco Chronicle, The Huffington Post, The Philadelphia Inquirer, Newsday, The Independent.