Sillage
The French have a word for it—sillage,
or you can say it as see-yage.
It’s the word for a fragrance trailing
the passing-by of a sweet perfume.
So like that or like the wake of a boat
leaving white water lace behind,
any act of truth, love, purity, or beauty
exudes an atmosphere of such joy
that it needs a new term.
Like alpenglow, the lingering sunlight
that paints gold on the highest peaks,
such an act paints sweetness
in a sense memory—We can live in a way
that the sillage of kindness lingers
through darkest nights. In this new time
of destruction love yet flows,
a soul-perfume made tangible
on road sides and city blocks.
We can breathe it while dusting a shelf
or lighting a candle, and in that moment
God’s fragrance becomes everywhere.
Rachel Dacus is the author of seven novels and four poetry collections. Her work has appeared in Boulevard, Gargoyle, Prairie Schooner, Eclectica and Image: Art, Faith, and Mystery. Her poems are in anthologies Fire and Rain: Ecopoetry of California and Radiant DisUnities: Real Ghazals in English. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area, where on its mountain trails she can encounter the sacred as she walks her Silky Terrier.
Amethyst Review 