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.