the way of all flesh 19

          roy herndon smith

sitting looking at
shadows and light on the walls
rolling my foot on

a bottle of ice
covered in a sock, aware
of subtle pleasures

easing of soreness
streams of grey blurring into
the creamy background

murmurs of Mary's
voice in the other room and
outside, a child's call 

the locusts singing
trees rustling, bird chirruping 
moving in stillness