After the Rainfall

The sweet smell
of recent rain
and wet pine
drifts heavily,
creeping through
not-quite-shut windows,
crawling underneath doors,
thousands of scented insects
preparing for the invasion of memory.

Perfection: life
reflected in a shattered mirror,
shards of memories
sting wandering souls
lost forever in the forest of the past,
never knowing
that reliving yesterday
is but early death.

Never again to forget
that dusty trails
and less-traveled paths
remain so for reasons
we have not access to;
Convention: more than a net
to catch a falling heart,
but a close confidant,
eager to stroll intertwined
and revel in the sweet smell
of recent rain.