Deer-tongue

            Deer-tongue

 

The smell of deer-tongue came to me today

From decades past.  I mean the fragrance of

The dried out leaves, as dried out as the splay

Of decades since my father taught us love,

His sons, beneath the Florida sun, leaves

That called up beauty like vanilla to

His nose and ours.  This souvenir retrieves

The afternoons we spent together, blue

Sky, mountains’ peaks (those perfect clouds piled white

Above), the heat and smell of burning pine

Brown needles for the hives in bee yards, spite

Of bee stings.  Memories harsh and lovely shine

Across the years.  Yet most of all we dwell

On him because of deer-tongue’s faded, gentle smell.