Having made the identification (after being mugged)

I'll put your face on his
to sleep at night
-- the scar on your nose
becomes him too I'll
see it everywhere now in
noodles, coffee, my
own hand--
I can't imagine your
life even draw well-lit
pictures in the etching turf or
sandy floor where I picked
myself up--it's your voice I'll cling to
I thought I'd recognize your
hands--or your most undramatic
shadows some et cetera-- where
will you sleep tonight? I'll
fold up my instrument parts tucked
away in shapes of "mystery"
and "soul", thimble wise
crawling saws--while you
remember my face, your
thirsty fingers