linalool

for miles

around

the flower palace there

is a

dangling in the air

lazily coptering

a chemical glissando

dizzy wide spiral

being baked off the backs of

the daffodil moat

the bined linden walls

furniture of rhododendron

lamped by orchids

well-curtained in wisteria

thick floors of victorious violet

balconies of orange blossom

and here and

there adventurous cistus

rises in the doorways of climbing rose

the wanderer and his friend

stop by the lilac gates

there

the friend says

it is, more beautiful than

they said

greener and pinker and

dancing in the wind

did you imagine

the friend says

how soft, how crisp the petals

or how

immense the scent of it the

tenthousand perfume bottles

we couldn’t know

the friend insists

its impact, how it calls

you to come in to

feel the leaves lick your palms

the friend gives his full gaze

gulps down the air

the wanderer says

easy to love and tough to use;

beauty calls the eye

but the camellia cannot see;

gardenia goes without a lusty lung;

the work of it hangs in the air

and nests in the earth

fragrant clouds of code

tongueless talk in pheromones

and root intelligence  

questing through the topsoil

for miles

he says

we have been inside the flower palace

blind to its traffic

deaf to its songs and alarms

but it’s nice you like the color of it

and the way it smells

they stood there for a while longer

watching the bees bob by before

they turned and walked back off

through the invisible wiring