All the right places

I've been looking for myself.
And from time to time I come across 
remnants
sometimes glimpsed
blowing 
across fog-filled streets
at the back of the bins
propping open the lids
in alley-way heaven.

A blind man once gestured
towards a silver-lit stream
that I recognised
but never noticed.

Think I hear the potholes
on uneven roads
sound out my name
'thud-thud, thud-thud'
a double-syllable
ecstasy
nudging a memory
awaiting translation
though the language is
not my own.

In a park, near a pond
a pebble slips from
my hand
a figure's reflection
ripples away its form
dancing on a breeze
to gradually return the features
of someone he once knew.