Every Little Thing (I.P.)

It was pouring, heavens hard,
when our paths crossed
for the very first time.
Both of us did a double take.
Remember?

“Twins separated at birth,”
we joked, as we waited
for a train at Putney station;
with the same blonde bob
and the same choice
in gabardine raincoats.

Seventeen we were; two
office juniors, but aspiring
millionaires. The same
star-sign, as it happens;
Gemini. Both, Beetle crazy;
Hammersmith Odeon
we saw them live. December,
nineteen- sixty-five.

Then life moved us on –
we lost touch, until now,
many decades later;
a letter from your sister
telling me you’d died.

Born before our time,
perhaps. Nevertheless,
all that remains...
is to commit to memory
these precious things.

Your dress the day we met –
soaked through, followed
each line – each contour
and your red umbrella
that we shared. The rain
turning to sleet, and how
I was the warmest
I had ever been.