Adrian Blevins

Issue #
September 28, 2015

All Hither & Yon Is I Think a Kind of Feeling

Like you are somehow a flood. Like something too wet & slick
in the process of being dispersed. Or like a thing let go

after being rooted a long time beside the mountain’s swaying cattails
& the six or seven pristine sycamores at the edge of things

when the mammals come to drink. Or like you are—the feeling is—
really just wind, or like the air above the forest

between the full-grown leaves of things. Or like a pair of little lungs
under the rocks in the darkness even in winter. Especially in winter

under the rocks is what the feeling is—like you are a you
of common ice which is like a hum or a great silence that hums,

especially when every last little thing’s asleep, when
even the beavers are hiding somewhere low with their wilted branches

& shards of bark & other bunched up & underwater armaments
of time I guess & sun I guess & teeny grass I guess that’s dead.

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