I wonder if my plant enjoys its wicker basket pot & clumps of dirt & a few hours of indirect sunlight standing crooked in its privileged center of the room position, a living creature, I’ve watched it move & sprout new leaves & I’ve felt guilty watching some of those leaves crumble and die like my plant will someday from a neglect of whatever it is that it needs more than just food and body, but all things grow old, all things wither and change color, all things must them self discover and enter the great hall of hades while time up above like waves unseen from the bottom of the ocean rise and tumbling tides gravitating in oscillating patterns different from the currents which are different from the past which is a story we tell ourselves and the perspective as seen from all directions.