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

Linda Lerner

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I felt it brush right through me
"someone's walking over your grave,"
my grandmother would have said

I barely glimpsed wiz by me
a soft breeze like music l couldn't see
to grasp, hovering near
who meant no harm, but fearing
I walked faster to shake free of

what I'd later wing out in my mind
from that flutter of orange bordered black
exquisiteness my eye had fast caught
failing to recognize what now
takes my breath away