lookmy fingers,whichtouched you

look
my fingers,which
touched you
and your warmth and crisp
littleness
—see?do not resemble my
fingers.     My wrists hands
which held carefully the soft silence
of you(and your body
smile eyes feet hands)
are different
from what they were.     My arms
in which all of you lay folded
quietly,like a
leaf or some flower
newly made by Spring
Herself,are not my
arms.     I do not recognise
as myself this which i find before
me in a mirror.     i do
not believe
i have ever seen these things;
someone whom you love
and who is slenderer
taller than
myself has entered and become such
lips as i use to talk with,
a new person is alive and
gestures with my
or it is perhaps you who
with my voice
are
playing.