The Scent 

          A faint jasmine scent 
          remains on the collar 
          of her blue silk dress.

          Every time he enters, 
          the cabinet door squeaks 
          a hinged lament.
          The empty sleeves rise

          towards the window, to the
          shadows the jasmine plant
          embroiders on the pane,

          the same it cast 
          on her face when she died.

Paula Grenside's Questions:

Scent persistent in memory, so deepy to recreate the past.  Does it happens to the reader while reading the poem?

Is the image of the image of the sleeves too much,or does it work?

Thank you.