The Prodigal

You arrive before

announced—a lemon dawn, sour

beneath sweet blossoms.

x

Every clue from scent

is mixed, its facts incomplete,

inseparable,

x

muddled in days passed.

Some part of this mystery

is good, a message

x

to see anew. We

ought to be grateful to know

you as you and still

x

love the alien perfume

clinging to you.