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

R Jay Slais

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Listen Intently

After the snow, hear nothing
but a distant scraping
from the invisible
flattening of the night.
A cracked stick noise
dies quickly, the frozen air
tries to strangle any sound.
Skeletons adorned in glass shards
dress to dance with my bones,
each breath becomes a ghost,
whispers hushed in thought.
Silence surrounds that space
near the turn point of echo,
where a forgotten epiphany
can suddenly remember its secret.