One Year On

One Year On

I forget, now, the image of your face,
the broad, furrowed forehead,
the dash of scar beneath your lower lip.
I forget, now, the gait of your walk,
the slightly bow-legged limp.
I forget, now, your shirts, ties,
cufflinks, watch,
the pattern of your socks.
I forget, now, the things we said.

I forget nothing.