The air is sweet, as if filled with your breath,
it is as honey, or a field before a storm.
It is magnolia, or the pale pink barbara’s button
in the small garden I passed in Oglethorpe Square.
In the shadow of the great oaks and Moravians,
I felt your nearness in the weight of humid air.
via molecule to molecule your flesh touched my flesh,
as the redstarts swim the space from tree to tree.
But this is the last, gone trace of you. I walked
into the sun, across the cracks of broken Broughton St.
This poem originally appeared on my MySpace Blog, Full Mental Jacket, on 2/3/2012