Spoor

A poem by Eleanor Hooker

We climb stars to the moon.
There are as many scents as are stones
in the sea. In all time, before and after,

our lake was a stone bowl, brim full.
There are as many stones as stars
in the night, now we say anosmia.

Once upon a stave, you caught all the notes –
the full perfumed orchestra – top notes,
base notes, heart notes, our life elegies.

An old woman says, don't smell basil
or a scorpion will appear in your brain.
And a scorpion appears in your brain.

Today’s poem is from Eleanor Hooker’s collection Of Ochre and Ash (Dedalus Press)