As I rest my eyes in their shade
I smell them
my fingers
and smell
objects I’ve touched
from hour one.
I try to smell through
the layers of odors
the faintest from morn’s playing
with her hair,
the less precious ones,
toothpaste, tea, newspaper
soap, keyboard,
the sandwich at lunch -
a cocktail of smell
I picked
as I lived another day.
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