Knowing the Spaces of the World

I wonder about
the life of spaces
I have passed through.
What songs have they
heard that I have not?
When did the stench
of death pass through?
The honey scent of life?
The particles of the past
linger in the air eternally
keen to the nose of hounds
who can discern every atom
of this invisible world that
I can only know via memory.
I am envious that this space
where I have kissed my wife
will, with the passage of time,
kiss the lips of thousands
of other men, know so much
more life than I can dream.
Dreams have no bones.
What is mine will never
stay with me. The scented
layers of my soul will be
known but never found.