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Delicate and sweet as Chinese
wind chimes to the ear, remembered
fragrance can conjure those images
long lost to time. . .
Jasmine adrift on night wind —
the way magnolia hangs, heavy
in the grey dawn, or from dark
closets, faint and haunting, a hint
of cedar, sandalwood or rose.
A woman brushes near, and drifts
of perfumed air stir sharp fragments
of youth’s old longings —
that crushed gardenia on a prom dress,
love notes sprouting violets,
and oh! those walks in autumn’s mist.
Wet leaves spreading a sponge underfoot,
earth-mold pungent in the cool damp —
illusive now her beauty, faded
by years, but the scent she wore
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