Poetry Commons

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,