A Smell

Because of the wind or the time— I know nothing about flowers—
the entire valley smells like something growing. I
have a terrible sense of smell. But
I park and roll down the windows.
My dog sits up and lays down.
It is such a big smell.
Like how mountains have shadows.
I think of everyone I could ask about what the smell is
and if they are knowledgeably smelling the smell.
I make intelligent hypotheses— Sagebrush. Gingko.
I think about writing a poem
and wait for someone to tell me it is a miracle
or a pattern
or something rotting in my car and
no one comes
no one tells me what smell the smell is
or if I should like it anyways
and I drive home
earthy, human, and still.

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