The Cartography of Absent Scent

A breath, a bridge that has no pillars,
is strung between memory and silent air.
It has no color nor boundary, it has no ribbons
that bind it to a known shape.
Yet it weaves tapestries, without thread,
drawing spaces where a smile once was.

It is an invisible geographer who traces
paths of shadow, avenues of time gone by,
the inner map of an old face
or the first stolen kiss and never forgotten.
An ephemeral cathedral rises
from a whiff of tea, of rain, or sudden breeze.

It asks no permission, enters and then vanishes,
but leaves behind a daring imprint.
Its architecture the heart constructs,
more solid than stone, more than life.
An alphabet without ink, a silent song,
from an attentive nose, for a moment, understood and complete.