After All These Years

I cannot recall your name, yet I remember the warmth of your hand as you held mine, and the way the moon illuminated the cobblestones as we walked along main street that first summer night in '75. I cannot recall your face, yet I remembered the crook of your grin and the sparkle of your eyes as you looked down on me, and the coziness of our old bed in the rented studio near the center of town that carefree summer of 75. I cannot recall your voice, but I remember the plans you made to go and not stay, and how the downtown fountain gurgled and splashed and seemed to whisper and sigh so long after your goodbye that last summer night in '75.