confusing note from a friend

If I had you to confuse,
to remember from life
instead of what's left
after all the almost,
I would say:

What you miss most about me
is how we'd walk through uncut fields on paths
that would part always to let us pass, then close
behind us to leave no trace,
in the long and the sharp and the flowing grass,

and our legs would bear welts, all the ways
to the beach,
where we'd salve them
with sun-baking sand and spray.

And for days

uncounted, more or less
like these,
we would build up from life blessed memories.

Until one day,
that's all.

We would have no more.

You'd be left with a note

and a glass
to pour.