Scents furnish ghosts.

I smell the sea but hear no roar.
I smell the sand but feel no grit. 

Alone, I mourn the lover lost, the man
who hears the roar and feels the grit.
I cannot see his face or taste
the salty pleasure of his skin,
but scents, scents evoke memories,
unbidden and unwelcome.

I smell the sea but hear no roar, no roar.
I smell the sand but feel no grit, no grit.

Mary Allen