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.