You are so many people: as I hear
you in some woman's footstep in the street
or in a sound of voices somewhere near
and hold my breath each time I think
somebody fits your shape; or when I see
your smile on someone else's face or in
their eyes, and feel you in a lover's touch.
I know you can't be here and yet I cling
in fragments to whatever seems to keep
your absence real. I wouldn't mind so much
to miss the whole of you nor feel so in-
complete, but for the stubborn part of me
that finds it's wholeness in a broken thing
and looks for you in everyone I meet.
Stella Trevin
Winter 1992
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