Inside patchouli
Autumn mornings in concert with crickets
cicadas
witnessing the sun’s forehead nuzzle dawn into day
the accepted repetition of arriving
the achievement of such repetition
the musk of knowing & choosing
the light –
the illumination of being a thing fully
this oil of my youth
lingers on sweater sleeves
lifts me like his kiss can
VANESSA SHIELDS, writer 
I have a lot of memories that come with patchouli too, hippies in the 1970s, rooms full of people smoking weed and the smell of patchouli everywhere.
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