Binding Information

The sun on the stone-flagged floor
And the odor of people
Who just left the room, traces

Of perfume, a little sweat,
A hint of breath, whatever
Soaps and detergents they used,

Indicating molecules
Had broken free of their skin
And clothes, floating and bumping

Into noses, only life
And living animals could
Know any senses like those.

But here we are, preserving
What we can. The glass windows
Both capture and let sun through,

But words can only be locked
Into place, cast into space,
Carrying bits of cargo

That altogether comprise
Encoded point mosaics
Picturing ghosts as the crew.