Abner’s the Center of Nothing

bevies of blue
leaves, which is a way

of holding it,
this drop in the road

toward that thing
called thought

that is ‘being in
the world’ and,

whittled happily
by the blue

reachings of
utterance

that may find it,
goes

and on
and on

*
or it might be said
just resonances

accumulate

quiet chords of trees
at field’s edge

accumulate

bevies of blue leaves
and a ditch

dank with words

This article appears in June 2008.