Parts

I thought about you

all the time,

constructing parts of you  

into deconsecrated halves of me.

Like that part

that would would sleep on your heart

when mine got too warm.

And many times

I saw you in the gait

of a passerby, wearing parts of winter

in early spring.

Sometimes a stranger

surprised me- involuntarily-

so much so

that it strained by breath

and

resurrected

a whole graveyard of you.

And then less frequently,

I saw parts of you in the spaces

between

two songs.

Until once, I thought I saw

a shadow of you

in some far away place

that you and I had never visited.

But when I looked again,

I could not remember

if I had ever seen you

at all.