Flavor

Taste that lingers in my mouth,
memoir of walks in the garden.
Dreams that seemed eternal then
are now glass fragments
we can’t piece together.

Perhaps you are here unknowingly
as a instrument of memory,
like those persistent souls
that cling to old homes
looking to be remembered.

I taste and grieve for a man
somewhere in the world
who can’t find your flavor.
It lingers in my mouth,
pleasant until the end.

D.Q. 3/19/06