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

Larry Schug



Duckweed and watermeal,
blown against the pond's windward shore,
where seven mergansers gather to feast,
leaves a clear liquid mirror in its lee
where I kneel to look into my own eyes, reflected.
Not knowing if the orbs I see return my gaze
or if I'm invisible to them,
I drop a pebble to see if those mirrored eyes blink.
They stare back at me,
motionless as hovering turtles
below the surface of everything,
all of it rippling and confusing,
yet, somehow comforting in its transience
as I rise, walk away, disappear.