flesh 5

roy herndon smith

flesh forgets nothing
the thought, the flick of a leaf
shadows fluttering

on the self-portrait
in a red Obama hat
of the friend, now dead

his ashes strewn in
the garden he putted in
each stroke traced a line

of the poem of
dust composing life rising
from the earth, falling

back to earth, ashes
drifting into trees, their leaves
filtering sunlight