Sun tainted mildew
and mottled midnight mist-
companions
as the clock struck two.
Through half-closed eyes
a world view
two dimensions deep
blurred out the lone owl
and the flock of thoughts
whose shadows painted
the window pane.
An inch away from slumber
a scent in the darkness
called out to a forgotten feeling
of a racing pulse.
Why do scientists struggle
with time travel when
the familiar whiff of a night bloomer
is all it takes to travel back
to the night of firsts?