This sense sustains the House of Memory.
A baby's smell relaxes me.
My nose feels near those prenatal “clouds
of glory” old poet Mr. Wordsworth worded worthily.
Clover’s odor covers lovers clinging close together.
Granite scree on mountain slopes
where I once was broken
shattered
a stunning composite of shards
and stardust
now I finance my future.
"It's been so long since"
the summer wind embraced
my echo’s laughter-
its gentle cough tickles
my rounded belly
joyously swishes
1.
Spring is here.
Now my eyes turn to incense.
Children are in my bones.
The dog of the world has no home
but vacant skulls and vacant skulls,
