You could swivel all around to wonder at the ledger
of starlight, trucks, ditches,
gravel, bats, moon,
of crickets chanting, We belong,
the wind conducting business
with the every scrap of trash, crows asleep in corn,
and when the morning comes
half the ass would be missing, the summer sun accounting
for God knows what.
Column A: presence. Column B: absence.
When they merge, the rest
of the book fills up.
Office Chair Abandoned by a Country Road by Mark Jackley | Poetry Reed Diffuser
$20.00Price
