this is hope

in these blue quiets,
these haunts of newborn sunlit hours
where morn and eve hold hands
while we all but dream of day,
I love the empty sounds
reminding me that I am alone
and still new break-of-day minted
to watch a cloud drift past behind
a squadron of eager westward sparrows
speaking of how this day is the only day
and every other day is but a shade
lost to itself,
this is hope…

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