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

Sarah Carleton

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Before waking

we packed up the miniature squirrels
except the one that scrambled onto the roof—

or maybe they were goats. I saw them jumping
when I went to clear out the A-frame—

or maybe it was a lean-to. The guy called it a tent.
He said he met a fundraising group

camping in the forest out back, but maybe
it was a role-play group bounding through the woods

with Robin Hood bows and arrows.
They called themselves The Gold

and when I turned to search for them
between the tree trunks, the forest shifted yellow.

Bright leaves shivered onto brown-green branches
and filled the frame. The ground was a mattress of mulch.

He said "We have to go now," but I wasn't sure.
Maybe I wanted to stay and sleep in golden leaves.