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

Francine Witte

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Umbrella Man bobbling down the cobblestones. Dark jacket and hat under a shower of rainstars. Makes me think of you and the last time I saw you. The low rumble of love that used to be, that we tried and tried to get back. Me always thinking – this time will be different. But different never came. Me always thinking If only the sun, if only the sun. But the sun was ages and ages ago. Long before me standing here alone tonight watching this stranger walking down the street. Before the haze of the lamplight, gauzy and fog. Before his reflection on the rain-soaked stones Then his shadow. Then his ghost.