Old memories pass by like colourful leaf’s

Whirling in and out of my soul.

Vanishes from the cold street like frozen seeds.

That maybe could have been growing?

When I walk around a late October afternoon.

In my old town where I used to live.

My guts remember and chase me from

Restroom to bookshop to a cup of tea.

And I ask myself: what did you think that you would see?

The wind is blowing.