DILL WEED DREAMING

In the summer it was all
silver and gold,
the bend of the aspen,
the tug of your hold,
of the hand that held mine fast
as if the brook fell closer
on our hearts the warmer
like something that lasts.

(alas, alas)

In autumn we walked
the paths we had left
and the smell of dill weed
and drying grass
came out of the orange
and tightened around us,
a darkening repast.

(alas, alas)

In the winter of tears
(strange how it is
in all blue and all white
true colors appear)
we fell out of the sky
and hit the ground dreaming
and wondering why
the way we had built
neither steady nor sure
lay gaping behind us,
a way no more.

In springtime it was all
dill weed dreaming
in crushed bouquets
that crumbled beneath
my diligent feet
and wept in a smell
with the rush of the wind
like something that lasts
and drags on before you
(the past, the past).

Poet’s Notes

The power of smell never ceases to amaze me in its ability to trigger memories and images, and to create stories like the one behind this poem. I hope you’ve enjoyed my work! You can let me know what you think of this poem in the comments, or drop a line about your favorite smell or one you find particularly inspiring.

If you’re interested in reading more poetry, another poem of mine that explores a similar theme is “The Smell of Onions Cooking.” I’d love if you checked it out.

I’m also a self-published poet and short story writer! Check out my poetry and short story collection Metamorphosis, available for just $0.99 on Amazon.

Most of all, thank you so much for reading. I’m wishing you a lovely day — and beyond.

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