there you are
that black hair
that touches your waist
swaying as you walk
side to side to side
the guy though
by your side
here in Izmir
lacks the swagger
of a youthful me
no long hair
blowing in the breeze
or Fu Manchu
framing the grin
so he’s not me
she’s not you
just a lookalike
four decades later
and thousands of miles
on the other side of loss
a lifetime ago