​​About halfway past seven just as 
the northeast sky lit up orange  
from waters aloft 
 
          I looked right and, distracted, 
          thought of all those million souls 
          then flying in waves  
 
towards Carolina, paper fragments,  
moments though scattered still clamoring  
for a snuffing-out like flocks of keys 
 
          from pianos or like escaped moths  
          bee-lined to the truth they know 
          and received only by such light. 
L. Ward Abel’s work has appeared in hundreds of journals (Rattle, Versal, The Reader, Worcester Review, Riverbed Review, and others), including a recent nomination for a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, and he is the author of three full collections and ten chapbooks of poetry, including his latest collection, The Width of Here (Silver Bow, 2021). He is a reformed lawyer, he writes and plays music, and he teaches literature. Abel resides in rural Georgia.