Everyone knows how a cheap scent sounds,
its odor loud and clear,
astringent—a sting in your nostrils
that makes you taste dissonant brass.
But lupins in a field whisper
subtle fragrances, inaudible
unless you’re willing to stand still
on a windless afternoon
and listen: a blue fugue
in which you can recognize motifs
of raw denim, antique lilac silk,
or dusty amaranthine velvet.
*
Don Thompson was born and raised in Bakersfield, California, and has lived in the southern San Joaquin Valley for most of his life. He has been publishing poetry since the early sixties, including a dozen books and chapbooks. For more information and links to his publications, visit his website San Joaquin Ink (don-e-thompson.com).
Foxglove Journal 