Epiphany

He smelled of snow. Ruminating in the bare bones of this dawn alone My ritual now. I realize That faux epiphany, grinding into you: Not where he came from or why he would leave But the effervescence behind a whiff The uncatchable distraction To pinpoint in my memories. This scent, every day, commands my fingers (it’s not that cold) To numbly trace instead The etchings of the concrete, Like my unending, driest winter’s spell The name of someone who smelled like snow And the date he disappeared.