We call their scent unworldly
though all scent is earth-bred:
the perfumed parade down Fifth,
the dog’s shoulder
flounced against the carcass
of a fox.
Fuming branches
near the flagstones
transform the wind
the way a shy mouth
puckers in the snap
of pleasure.
Lilacs owe their lives
to the rain and sun,
and when there’s thunder
at the door,
they enter
without knocking.