We sing Happy Birthday, A gay grid of celebrants, in a non-traditional party, All five participating squares bathed in screen light. Quick to smile, slow to mourn this unknown country. We clap ourselves on the back, no clue where this is going Or when we might return. Time's cycles extinguish candles burning bright. Wax drips fluttering Quite like a guttering flame: always shifting. We might gather in person soon, Seduced by the promise of a wild celebration. But not today. Quiet when it's over, worrying. Waiting, our grand hopes scattered, eyeing the horizon, Watching in darkness for an illusive dawn.
Monica's Monday Morning Flash 
Beautifully written, really captures the times. Nice use of illusive — I had to look it up wondering if you had made a mistake. Ha!
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Thanks, glad you enjoyed this. My first attempt at poetry. I hadn’t noticed the use of illusive. Had to look it up. Just a testament to the way brains pop out a word when it’s exactly what you want.
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