i cannot speak to the you that you have been
cannot witness the unnumbered hours you lived
well before me
they are not and will not become mine to point to
and the pages and volumes that make up your once was
i can read only in fragments
scraping up sentences and coveting chapters
i may never see

but here, in this you and me standing
my face and your fingers
your laugh and my eyes
these few pieces of you are mine and mine only
your words and my hoping
my arms and your smile
they are only nothings, the smallest of moments
but into them i will start to carve my picture of you
upon them i will build my earliest knowings
the things in you i am sure of
the most in you i can see

these pieces of you i will use to begin it
add them to seconds, and somewheres, and time
and watch as the spaces that loom in my learning you
crowd up with memory
render you mine