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Everyone here has your face

The wind assembles your face out of trash,
then blows it away.

I see it everywhere:
in the store window, wearing a fedora,
sprayed on walls,

in the python pattern on a woman's handbag,
on the POST NO BILLS signs.

Someone hands me a piece of paper,
a sales offer:

your eyes
looking at me
from behind the check-in counter,

the last thing I saw
before leaving for good,

now only 99 cents
for a limited time.