All day the house
with open windows
at the mercy of
mowers passing by
bringing their noise
disturbing my child
at the point of sleep
also the scent unheard of
for many months if not
more—how smell is
the seat of memory
bringing these other
houses into focus for
a moment which after
all is all we have
why not spend the loveliest
day we have had so far
in thrall to nostalgia
that is not even lost
witness how a day alive
is one day more to remember
the smell of a house
cut grass and wood shards
splinters of the past
at the edge of identified
blurry at the circumference
but dangling ever so
persistently in my lungs
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Joshua Keiter 