roy herndon smith
a mid-summer day
still, a leaf falls, then one more
then two together
in air that refracts
blue light and gathers water
into clouds and rain
blows trees and homes down
breathes into flesh, making space
the moody mother
of life and language
gusts of thinking and breezy
senses playing with
a leaf, another
then two more spiraling round
and round to the ground
dust 