“Where did you lose your Faith?”

I’m thinking, “Hell,
if I knew that, well,
it wouldn’t be lost, now would it?”
I think and almost say out loud, “I might
not have had it in the first place, in which case
you cannot lose what you never had.”
Instead, I check the pockets of my pants,
the breast pocket of the shirt I wore
yesterday. Next I check that little foyer
table we keep near the front door. where
I’ve been known to dump stuff off there
as I return from a work weary day. “Could
be,” you suggest, “that you have a hole in
your pocket. If it fell through a hole
it wouldn’t be your fault, still,
finding it again, well, hell,
it could have fallen out anywhere.”

I checked between the cushions
of the couch and the bedside table
next to my light, among my stack of books,
but nothing. I could’ve sworn I’d had it
in my hand, just the other day.

I’m tired of looking for it,
but look for it out of habit.
I wonder, if it is missed
like ice cream is missed by a dieter,
or is it missed like the ache
after the tooth has been pulled?