I knew that I would never see again
The well-worn fingers or the craggy smile,
The gruff head-nod he used, his gentle style,
So out of place within that face. But when
It happened, and he left for good, ah then,
I didn't notice for a little while,
As if I could no longer find the file
Containing him in memory: denial
Of service from my mind. And then I'd reach
My hand into a glove, and find it his;
Or suck a coughdrop that he gave to me,
And feel his memory begin to leach
Back through my skin. With every touch it is
A full, returned, and loving memory.
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