Woodsmoke

Letting myself in, I smell the woodsmoke
where last night I kept the fire company
turned with my back to it, rested with a book.
The smell is a ghost in the house
insinuating into every thread
of the coats hanging in the hall.
It reminds me, once at the checkout
we were side by side, in cahoots
how are friend said we always looked -
plotting together, our conspiracies
us two, knowing, smug
our jokes that excluded everyone.
The checkout girl in uniform asked
do you have a log fire?
We were rapt, united, giving off our smell.
How we raced to make the fire
sat there before, us two
the kindling, the coal, the logs
together didn't notice the smell.
Last night I didnt notice it
it's only when you leave, return
that you see or taste or smell these things.
So later, driving, I lift my sleeve and breathe
there the smokey notes of wood, just on me.
I wonder what it is you think you couldnt give
what I felt lacking - and every time
I wonder at the cure I catch myself
alone in woodsmoke, building the fire.