flesh 10

roy herndon smith

the puddle on the
grey street mirrors silver light
and black trunks of trees

a scatter of fallen leaves
scars the surface shine
with yellow and brown

a half hour later
the water has soaked into
the pavement, leaving

the leaves, debris to
to be swept out of sight, out
of mind; remember

what’s hidden makes what’s
seen, leaves like shadows lost
in the blinding sun