One of about 250 in a row from 'Palimpsest' by Klaus Høeck

ode to the smell of firewood smoke

firewood smoke swirls up

in the memory sharper

than grated wasa

bi and it fills out

the sinuses resulting

in a final sneeze –

no forty years or

fifty have passed – somewhere or

other everything

is the same as be

fore is itself just like the smell

of firewood smoke