Purple powder gently falling
Safely in my hands
Mixing it, shaking it, pouring it
Suddenly it forms bands
Coming back, finding it
Red between white
In the light.

Picking flowers when I was three
Scattering them next to my mother,
On a tree
Cherry blossoms in my hand
Gently land
On the sand
Of the beach

Now its time to go
To leave that happy scene
And return back home
Where I belong with my
Column chromatography