A perfect blue

Above.

Green on silver

Concrete

 

Silk distance

Shard swept

Petals groomed

For the wind.

 

Fumed curls

From the copper

Factory

Somehow entitles

Visions of childhood.

 

The fragrance

Of things lost

Stands still in the street.

Infinite memories

You feel it.

 

Olfactory evoked recall

 

I prefer to call it

Tiny death.