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

Larry Schug

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Tawny brown sparrows, "nothing much" birds
compared to orioles or scarlet tanagers, say,
but if one landed on the sill of your cell window,
sang its simple song before flying off,
it might take you with it
as it pecks at bugs on the warden's lawn,
perches hidden in a currant bush,
a shadow, flitting from tree to tree,
wings across a sky with no walls
pulling the thread that sews everything together.
You come back from your reverie,
wondering where you were just then,
your body, locked away,
your mind can't be imprisoned,
your soul can take wing.
The sight of the moon can do the same thing.