The green scent of you
would linger with me for a while,
stay and play childish tricks on my memories,
making them believe in themselves. 

That smell,
damp earth and creation,
on your hands kept me company on the drive
back home to my own fields. 

And now, in the evening,
when the air is still,
I am left only a recognition –
the shape of a branch,
a reminder
of that line, soft and angled
that defined your smile.