Scent of stocks

Like a girl returning
from a trip to the metropolis -
a sojourn with some relatives
who offered to arrange a match -
slipping off the bus or ferry
unannounced in lilac dusk,
euphoric to be home again,
where air is fragrant,
touched with balm,
spring arrives one April evening,
opening night-blooming stocks,
causing passers-by to pause
and breathe each garden's essences.

On leave ashore, a sea-captain,
heart quickened by the homeward path,
looks up at the stars,
the oldest, truest navigation charts,
disarmed by scents of clove and musk
earth's memory distils for him,
evoking promises once traced
in youth's ephemeral, sweet face.



*A sensory memoir of Syros
and Arfara (Greece), evoked
by the fragrance of night-
blooming stocks...


(This is the first version):


Scent of stocks


Like a girl returning
from a trip to the metropolis -
a sojourn with some relatives
who offered to arrange a match -
slipping off the bus or ferry
unannounced as evening falls,
euphoric to be home again,
where air is fragrant,
touched with balm,
spring arrives one April night,
opening the scented stocks
in artless gardens, cheek by jowl
with artichokes and melon vines.

Pausing on the midnight path,
dispersing crude taverna fumes,
a sea-captain on shore-leave
turns his head towards the perfumed
source - waxen clusters in the gloom,
messengers whose scent confirms
winter's absence for a time -
a breathing-space when earth exudes
such promises as youth once traced
in love's ephemeral, sweet face.