Dr. Quigley Smells Something

A flummoxed Dr. Quigley
crawls inside a smell.

Vanilla, he believes,
is a good place to begin,

the long dark bean
reminds him of the trails

he walked when young,
cool and dark

beneath the viridian
glow of foliage and sky.

He believes he can find God
if he can cross the rivers

inside his mind:
there are answers

there, he knows,
and crawdaddies

in the slow water
near the sandbanks.

If you could see him there,
he just scratched

his head, his finger
just a centimeter away

from the water
that covers his brain:

questions left
unanswered

and a smell
he cannot name.