shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Emily Strauss

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The Raven Coast

too steep for grazing cows, the dry cliffs rise
whitely in the sun, yet crumble in winter
storms throw down piles of broken rocks

no roads lead to the edge, coyotes tiptoe
on the flat bluffs— here the ravens rule
over the broken surf, roosting on bare

nooks, swirling in the onshore winds,
following animal trails, waiting, watching—
there is a long road only they know

dirt tracks with bits of fur or feathers
from a dark history of encircled black
gatherings that denote survival,
lonely against the sea.