I remember the smell of him alive

sweat and cologne

hair and a day’s work

in other words, the opposite of death.

I remember the smell of death

that overtook him

sour and aggressive — singular

devouring him inside-out.

Both scents linger

memories enforce them, time fades them

years accumulate

as do fragrances

but the dead are still dead — shadows

the living are measured against them.