painting by Marlene Vine (marlenevine.com), poem by Roy Herndon Smith
The woolly gist
of gravity curves space back
into the masses
of nothing out of
which it forever explodes
the chorus of birds
in a cool morning
after a cool night after
the year’s first hot day
before the fire next
time, now we can breathe again
the children still sleep
in just a moment
they’ll wake, we’ll curve into them
remaking it all
dust 