You cannot put into words a smell
This one calls to mind cedar and strength
But I could describe it to you and you would be no closer to knowing it
than before.
Smell is experience; you must be present.
So easily we relegate experience to waste
When there is nothing to show or to touch at the end.
Perfume poured out is only useful in the moment
But you called it good
Worthy of remembrance.
It was not poured on the ground, but on your head
An important distinction.
Where I pour out matters.
I can be wasteful, but you cannot.
Even the drops from your brow will fall where they ought.
Good.
May I pour unto you
May I trust where it falls
May I observe the puddle at my feet
And silence the voice that hisses waste.
For not all good is effort and gain.
You were anointed with a scent
Diffused and spent by the end of the day
May I place the same value that you do on experience
And say with all my heart
That the boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places
However much I seethe at how they fell.