Roy Herndon Smith

Always you surprise
me, dear reader. I toss words
out. They lie between

us. You pick them up.
You toss stillness and words back.
All is new between

us. The plane trees in
even morning light. The cry
of a bird between

the hum of traffic
thickening and thinning the
atmosphere between

here and there where
shots rat-a-tat, a lost child
screams, the void between

us gapes and fills with
words and stillness and always
you surprising me.