Missing Memories

It’s seven in the evening.
Does she remember?
Can she hear the tock
of her grandfather clock that
I was supposed to rewind twice a week?
Does she recall the secretive sound of our
sentences after we’d made love?
When she turns on the shower
Is she reminded of how
I was astounded by
The music she made, and the
Way water beaded on her skin?
When the sun rises,
And her new lover leaves
Does her mind recall the times she
Opened the door for one more goodbye
Before she returned to her tumble-down bed?
I have the chair we used to share,
But is there another she can
Sit in with him, together?
Does she ever wake up, dreaming that
We are still talking on the phone
Making love using just our voices?
Can she pass through a highway rest stop,
Or stay in a cheesy motel
Without thinking of me?
Does she remember the woman in the airport bar
Who told us we looked perfect together?
She wondered where I’d been all her life
And I puzzled about how lucky
I’d suddenly become