a swimmer within sight of his moon

by L. Ward Abel

Facing edges that blend

            like where rivers join

            an open sea

I float out in the solar wind

            cooking with a scent

            of spiced ruins and

quiet.

I’m a tree frog latching there

            onto a glass sky

            wet, aglow

frozen hot, speaking green

            in Pentecostal tongues

            like a swimmer within sight

of his moon.

There could be a query

            here at this scene

a reason, a purpose

but I won’t ask it.  I hate questions,

those higher pitched

sentence-endings

disturb my drift.

Photo L. Ward Abel

BIO: L. Ward Abel’s work has appeared in hundreds of journals (Rattle, Versal, The Reader, Worcester Review, Riverbed Review, Honest Ulsterman, Main Street Rag, others), including two recent nominations for a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, and he is the author of three full collections and ten chapbooks of poetry, including American Bruise (Parallel Press, 2012), Little Town gods (Folded Word Press, 2016), A Jerusalem of Ponds (Erbacce-Press, 2016), The Width of Here (Silver Bow, 2021), and his latest collection, (Silver Bow, 2023).  He is a retired lawyer and teacher of literature, and he composes and plays music (Abel and Rawls). Abel resides in rural Georgia.