June 4, 2005
I walked near the UND campus that June evening.
A smell was in the air that stirred my imagination.
It was not that of grilled steaks
nor that of deep-fried foods,
nor that of car or diesel exhaust,
not that of humid soils,
or fresh mown grass
nor rain on the wind,
but a nameless scent
that stirs people to congregate in close places,
to eat,
and drink,
and be together,
whatever their age,
whatever their culture.
There was but a whiff of it
and it turned my head.
Next to the earth in the rain,
beneath the dark moving clouds is where I live.
Not in the hubbub blur
of white headlights,
chrome,
and red taillights.
ReplyDeleteYou remain a man of the earth and rain, who’s occasionally stirred to congregate with your fellow star gazers.
Your use of white space in this poem speaks volumes.
ReplyDeleteI think it speaks more of my inability to structure my layout as I see fit. After having total control over the layout of THE RAVEN for 24 years, I've been extremely frustrated with my lack of control within the composition of the Almanac, hence I learned to accept it as unimportant.
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