Crumpled at the back of the bottom drawer:
"Sevenoaks School Lists, 1964".
And here they are, lined up, like guests invited
To a formal function, and my name included
Among the strangers. I can't put a face
To any of them. "Hardly knew the place",
I try to kid myself in disbelief:
But seven years, a quarter of my life,
Must have left some residue . . .
                              And yes,
Something is shaping from the emptiness:
Detached but clear, an accent or a voice,
A sharp eye's glance, a wry smile, a grimace.
In detail, though I cannot see them whole,
These faces are familiar after all.
Now, as the looks and gestures come together,
I find the strangers find they know each other,
...