One day I returned to the place
Where we last saw each other.
It had changed so much that only
The street-sign told me where I was,
And where the house she lived in once stood
A brand-new supermarket stands.

As for the matter that made up me,
Not one particle of it remained.
The eyes that saw, the ears that heard,
The flesh that touched were otherwhere,
And the cells that replace them
Had come from quite different pasts.

Despite all this, nothing that once was
Had altered. I had but to close my eyes
To see her, as sharp and clear
As when alive - as for touch and voice,
Tied to an immaterial chain
Of memory she had not let go.

Other Borealis Press titles by Fred Cogswell: