not of this world

only the simple gift of orange blossoms
blooming in the middle of winter
jasmine blending into the small spaces of scent
their heavy pillows tropically made room for in the night;
just turning a corner
where their scented murmur has been surprising me
in the last few days
reminding again that surprise
can still descend with a gracious caress
dismissing the other senses’ concerns
with unbeckoned authority
which dotes but will not be seized
which lingers but eludes capture

and yet tonight i circled around again
just so i could walk into it once more
(trying to pretend i expected nothing)
so that the embrace
would come with the same sweetness
bearing wings to the mind
softness to sharp corners of concern
to again dismiss sufficient evils
prospecting relentlessly on the wrong day
to savor what had come and passed
with reckless joy
without warning or word or goodbye

but they seemed to have folded their tents
or held their breath for a moment
as i passed by a second time
or maybe i was able to breathe in
only anticipation, desire
and the faint almost present
memory of what had offered itself
in overwhelming sufficience
only minutes before
a return sought it out
now biding time with its siblings
awaiting the vacancy for surprise