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

Kate Deimling



The hours, the minutes
slip through my fingers
like fancy buttons popping off dresses,
coins disappearing through pocket holes,
warm sunshine snuffed by clouds.

Like candle smoke snaking through air,
petals discarded by a clumsy rose,
minute mica sparkling in sidewalks,
racecars raising easy dust.

Late afternoon
is my favorite time—
sunlight slanting, a last hurrah,
and the Dopplered din of the train
like something remembered,
youthful enthusiasm,
unvisited open shores.