Sea Pine

I can't see it

but I can smell it

drifting on the wind

pine sap and dark brown honey

all wood perfume like deep forest

striking my yellow jacket heart

autumnal like dying leaves 

or those helicopter seeds

yet this is not leaves or seeds

but Mediterranean ambrosia.

In front of infinite turquoise

roaring with siren song

I'm searching every branch

marching miles of seawall

gypsy parks and empty tavernas

my eyes desperate to find it

to know its form, name its name

bottle it and take it home

as a memento of this moment

of my great love for Greece

to wear it on my pulse points

and grieve for years

what will never be mine again

what was always transient and ephemeral

like the scent of sea pine in November.