First Day 
I gaze across a perfect reproduction
   of a heartfelt greyness,
caring not for artificial divisions of time--
   a well-earned stillness on another first day...
 others play elsewhere,
     waiting for blue to return--
       an unearned bliss free from thought,
  promises of a scripted return
     in a world not configured for care.
 "forget it"'s thud into chasms,
      chasing other happy sentiments
          in self-professed orgies of concern,
       never stopping to ponder
          the perfection of winter twigs
            still craving attention. . .