Dawn hung on the horizon like a picture frame, slightly askew, uneven orange flecks in its slate-ringed eyes, dew-pearled hair tousled by the warm breath of the levitating sun, grimy shadows filling the empty right angles of its lost perfection.
A dawn, teetering on a waning silver hook, pushed aside by a half- dressed dream scurrying after the imploding dark that still held in its coal-hewn hands, an alternative epilogue with a happy ending.
soft tendrils of hope
bird song clings to the breeze
as the morning sways