There’s a smell like honeysuckle
in the morning dew-drop air.
And as the sun evaporates the fog,
I am evaporated too,
lifted up into the sherbet sky of a Springtime dawn
until I am dissipated out to fine motes of dust
which scatter wildly in the wind
until they find a far-away shore and settle
as refugees amongst the grains of sand
on the dunes of an ancient ocean floor.