In crowded train stations

and more crowded New York streets,

In stores

And sometimes in the lobby of my work building.

I sometimes see men whose shapes

remind me of my husband.

I see dark skinned men

with locs to the middle of their backs.

I see men who walk with bounce and weight.

I see men who move with husband shapes

But they are not my husband.

And sometimes,

I will see out of the corner of my eye

a man wearing husband colored clothing

or a husband textured man scarf

or knapsack

But they are not my husband.

Only my husband is the shape I truly know.

Only he has the right combination

of dark skin and girth

of smile and laughter

of warmth and musicality

of locs and checkered shirt

that add up to what I have come to know

and sense with certainty

like a child who takes its parents’ hand without looking.

-ZG-Daniel

11-7-2014