by Kirby Congdon…….

Gnat

Avoiding my crass hand’s sweep,
in random sallies
within the world of my room,
an insect darts, adoit,
among the motes of dust
that float, glow or drift about
in ninety-three-million-mile rays
of streaming silence.
Such lives, in their abandon,
define their space
and what it’s all about,
though chartless, in the far, rootless reaches
of the absolute.