on the first day of the month
we flipped all calendars in sight...

as today yields to the morrow
it's hope shall curb our sorrow...

in the finality of this hour
as all of this shall disappear...

an orange sat contentedly
or so it seemed to a quick eye...

Cry we all toward places unnamed
Rise above the crested hills...

Too quick to gather
tumbleweed musings...

candle in the window
for the son of a widow...

...

.
flame...

.
sunrise unveiled a promise of treasure...

.
none of these life choices...

.
there need not be iron bars...