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

Mike Dillon


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Ruined Chapel

Deep in the forest it was.
Roofless. Door-less.
Where stained glass was
swallows dart to and from
white-caked rafters.
Beneath the first, fey stars
he enters with the folded hands
of his quiet breath.
He doffs his cap, as always.
As always, he doesn't want to meddle.
He looks for a place to kneel.
He kneels beside broken glass.
And looks up, as always.
Only this time to the stars.
This time to the stars.