There is a man with a bag full of ashes. There is a man with a bag full of crumbs.
There is a third man with a pocketful of seeds.
There is a bird that could be either a dove or a pigeon, but which believes it is a phoenix and opens its wings to the dawn light.
There is a tree going over its branches, reviewing the blueprint of its choices to see where the sky went wrong.
There is a sliver of ice on your doorstep instead of a newspaper. The war has hardened and shows no sign of melting.
There is a siren instead of a song.