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

Elijah Neumann

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late evening

I walk uphill through the resounding
quiet, snow blanketing the road,

under a shifting sky
my breath enters the world.

I carry on, and the hill does end.
The snow will forget I was there,

but the night will follow me. Home,
where the hum of machinery creates

new quiet. This solitary room
welcomes darkness through covered windows.

I stagger down into unsteady sleep,
breath slowing, to night's end.