The past comes around at any moment,
paying a visit,
making memories concrete:
a bus pass, a metro map, a folded café punch card;
the other day, my colleague found
his college ID
waiting in the mail,
sent by an old paramour,
a chain of recollections spanning twenty years.
And here, a memory without context,
a bookshop from long ago,
but no book,
just a slip of paper and ink,
adhering to the past.