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

Emily Strauss

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Only Yourself

Finally there is only the outside:
Wind, ants, dust, unknown blue flowers
Cloud formations, distant cliffs—
The rest are walls keeping in the heat
Where words linger and footsteps end.

Only these views triumph over the limits
Of space that mark where we surrender,
Out here canyons draw the lines we
Must heed as we traverse the land.
Out here small sounds make up the days

And no sounds the nights, light colors
Itself extravagantly for nothing, the air
Smells as it will, morning mists
Swallow whole volumes of ideas.

Out here there is only yourself.