In the familiar places.

In that small cafe.
In the piano man and his son.
In the ruffles.
In the bare arms.
In the softly falling chimes of laughter.
In a hand tucked beneath a chin.
In a knobby knee tickled.
In the cream billowing in the coffee.
In the promises made.
In the hands shaken.
In the cobblestones crumbled.
In the vines overgrown.
In the scarred skin and wild blue veins.
In the black lacquered toenails.
In the tattoos that weren't there in high school.
In the sun licking sinewy shoulders and warming lanky legs.
In the batting lashes.
In the splinters.
In the exposed brick.
In the skateboarder.
In the sweet nectar.
In the shedding hydrangea.

In the familiar places.
I find a bit of me.