Whether Report
A slice of new moon slivers sky
with sly Cheshire Cat smile
Old orb but a piece of the pie
heralding new dawn’s new why
The winds blow cold to hot
slide from high to low
Around we go and go again
grounded by gravity and sin
We reach for the stars
while standing in trash
Our problems are old
the solutions still fresh
Do we lie down with mold
or rise from the flesh?
– Smith, 8.31.2016