He spent years under Oklahoma stones. Even after washed and dried, his shirt held their incense.
When building chimneys, the odor of wet mortar settled into his beard.
Portland dust fertilized his boots with city-germinating aroma—skyscrapers and sidewalks come from this dust and will return to it.
After a rain, the New York City pavement composed him, yesterday, in his son's memory.
Stone or concrete perfumes him into existence, out of thin air, for his descendants. Anywhere.
When building chimneys, the odor of wet mortar settled into his beard.
Portland dust fertilized his boots with city-germinating aroma—skyscrapers and sidewalks come from this dust and will return to it.
After a rain, the New York City pavement composed him, yesterday, in his son's memory.
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| Text messaged photo from my dad. |
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