R - Lesotho, and the inevitability of forgetting

In Malealea,
we were ten
and I barely remember you,
recall only insignificance;

The cherry trees, barren.

Drinking cocoa with marshmallows, melting
in our mouths.

Colin running, fast, falling off the hill,
misunderstanding where the ground ended
and the air began.

The dark walk from rondavel to bathroom
in the middle of the night.

Merwyn Bosworth's unmarked grave
and his ghost that haunted our games,
or so we said.

The acrid stench of horses.

The witchdoctor's darkened hut -
too scared to look her in her lazy eye.

But somehow,
I do not recall your presence

And yet you
were closest to me

at some point in time.