Oh, yes, I can remember you.  

You have turned on the faucet of warm memory,  

lodged deep and long.  

It all comes bubbling out now. Rusty and not quite clear  

saturating my mind  

with foggy happenings,  

damp vows  

entangled 

that could never be unwound somehow.  

The room steams;  

gazing in the mirror, my reflection blurred  

from the precipitation on the glass and in my eyes.  

I wish you would leave so I could remember you  

with the scent of green timber before it’s aged.