First year here, fall comes and my mate picks up drying weeds from our lot and mixes them into a glass vase; since then, for 28 years this stem has been left standing within the same transparent vase, here while all the women partners whom landed here are now gone out of the 'picture';

Still, when I look upon this remnant of a three year span relation, images surge and rebuild the whole of that dried weed composition, much more complex then, while time took care of slowly weeding out all except this one;

Memories live into such simple things, complex feelings still felt like waves coming ashore, quietly, from so far away, now, today.