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
dust 