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

Linda Conroy


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What Matters

Cement trucks grind and nail guns slam. I hold a hand
against my brow to shade the pointed sharps of sun.

The heart-safe sky tips south to where the showers lean
before they start. A slant of rain-dew glints on broken pine.

It was early when the work began, the bleat of backing vehicles
a chorus in the chant of progress for the day.

Fresh pasture for the goats is gone. The solemn scent of sage
no longer drifts in roadways where we roam

but look aside, watch sedges undulate in wind that teases
strength of marram stalks. See in new sidewalk cracks

a jubilant announcement of white bindweed,
wild blue flax and cheat-grass nudging its way in.