Missing Keys

Missing Keys

The thing I remember most
About loving you was the email
Everyday a page
Sometimes twice
I’d think of what you looked like under your scarf
That beautiful black
I remembered when we were
Friends, mostly as children, and foolish young
Adults and grown men and women we are now

And I find           I think
Too much
Of you still and wonder if
You had kept those emails and read them
At your office in your hijab
Or at home where I like to think of you
At mine, without a barrier
Mysterious to other men
But not me with
The keys I’d stolen
for many years with each letter
pressed I left clues and now
I look for places to leave them for you
Keys and clues to remind
You of the things you read the most
When I for years
Had emailed you.