That afternoon my friend said 
You know, you seem to  
have lost your mojo. 

I searched for it today in a Cuban café and left instead with a café con leche. 
I looked online for it, 
Mojo?
Mojo? 
I called but 
It didn’t call back.
I had to run fast from the internet, what with its
500 likes
and 600 friends and
323 connections.
My mojo seemed even farther away then

Like if I could hear its voice
it would be in some indiscernible font and 
1.1 point
smaller than that and 
fainter than the shiest whisper
  
I searched at the beach and under the front seat of the 
car and and in the piles of notebooks,
down in the basement just behind that box full 
of tiny mittens and boots.

Not there. 

Mo-
Jo?
I called again 
out into the wind
like I’d call the kids in from kickball
to dinner.  
 Only it didn’t swoop in, sit down to
the wooden table and say,
What are we having?

It stayed outside
or down some far away 
hallway,
or up some hill,
out of earshot 
out of 
reach, 
gone.