I imagine when dogs smell something

the scent tells a story;

in a matter of seconds 

my parents three dogs are introduced,

the children who hugged me at work,

the sauce slathered burrito I ate for lunch,

the inside of my car,

my spilled coffee & conversation spit,

the books I opened,

a flash of life inhaled & explained to a color blind perspective.

The more their nostrils read my presence, 

the more detailed my life becomes.

Even after a sticky adventure

swirling down the gutter where your mind just went,

or a tired afternoon I've carried with me all day,

the bones of my story remain 

to be mentally chewed on.

Humans do not smell as well 

but more selectively.

The deeper I breathe, the more I recall.

Something in the breeze melts a feeling over me.

A memory calls to me through

the laundry

the stove

the marina 

your skin 
& then suddenly 

a time in my mind is painted vividly by my heart.