Long distance

 

Here the rise and fall of sound
is cicadas roosting in the trees.
A southern magnolia surprises me:
creamy white petals bruised by time,
almost a breath of mom's perfume.
No one makes it anymore.
I only remember its imprint,
faintest scent as distant
as the call of late-night trains
that could be going anywhere,
even as far as where you are.