painting by Marlene Vine, poem by Roy Herndon Smith
it appears to be
a grid of structures on
a tan to deep brown
surface scored by lines
that along one side widen
into light patches
i do not discern
signs of present life—no green
no blue, no movement
perhaps a plague, a war
or heat killed everyone off
leaving a ruin
perhaps a remnant
hide from the sun, or perhaps
it's full of people
in underground homes
and gardens flooded by light
filtered through skylights
i'd have to touch down
to find out; safer to keep
on flying alone
dust 