I have heard stories
of gas lights and
cobble streets

their glare glowing,
amber dreams,
holding tight,
screaming

as we slip into a
stupor, rattling
windows

the hunted and the
haunted, stumbling
across these *****
stones

shoes creek, old
and broken,
and no one.
No one.

No one

hopes for the rays
of an orange sun,
the smell of
Spring rain

or victory