Happenstance

 
Hope sometimes hangs there
Quite fragile
Ephemeral
Like a single breath chilled by morning frost
Ready to float away
With the slightest breeze
While another may appear
Later
Hesitating
Before also drifting away
Each apparition disappearing quickly
Never lingering
Blown away by some wind
Or happenstance
The faint odor of despair
Or disillusionment
Lingering like a bitter aftertaste
Acrid red wine
Or vinegar
Turned sour
A nose pungent
A finish bitter