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

Edytta Anna Wojnar

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On Valentine's Night

she is an errant
fury crumbling
clouds into pebbles.
A hail goddess
eddying sadness
as if it were smoke
escaping roofs on fire.
When she opens
a window, shutters shift,
a barn owl screeches
and suddenly a red cardinal
lands on a frozen lake
and attacks its reflection.
Or is it a chocolate-filled
heart, a crimson ribbon
tied like a question?