A remembered New Orleans evening hangs in the air here. The speaker asks someone—maybe a lover or an old friend—if they recall the “honey-melon moon” and the thick sweet light over Canal Street, where the street seems to drift off among quiet trees. The strongest presence is a smell: patchouli, faintly decayed, like a dead tuberose held upright in the warm air. That final image feels both fragile and stubborn—something faded is still whole, preserved by memory. The speaker isn’t simply sad about time passing; there’s wonder that a moment so specific and sensory can survive. The mood is dreamy, intimate, and slightly heavy, like humid New Orleans air carrying perfume and decay at once. The title fits perfectly: a potpourri is a mix of dried petals and scents, beautiful even after the flowers are gone.
Potpourri — Summary
Do you remember Honey-melon moon Dripping thick sweet light Where Canal Street saunters off by herself among quiet trees? And the faint decayed patchouli-- Fragrance of New Orleans Like a dead tube rose Upheld in the warm air... Miraculously whole.