Time, the punisher of spirits,
  has left me these reminders that
  just a year ago, you sat at this table.

Scenes I relive
  over and over,
  smearing them
  like these dingy pewter utensils,
  for what is real is always imperfect.

What is important in life is simple,
  in the end:
  and at the end,
  you knew that I loved you, and
  I knew that you loved me,
  in the midst of your pain and my heartache.

Time, the enforcer of mortality,
  has left me these reminders:
  and I will one day leave them

  as well