Would you like to know where hope is?

If so, let me hold your
palm under the rain. Feel
what it must be like to
catch your existence
by the tail. Parted,
but not split, from
an ego as large
as one could dream.
Sometimes there are
symphonies held
within the splatter. But
we don't have ears like that.
Like the sidewalk has ears.
She whispers (day in-
day out)
foot steps that smell so
exhausted, one could
mistake them for wanting
to rest.
But they don't want to rest
near the eavesdropping rain.
They know each symphony plays
far too loudly
in the dark. And
some of us must sleep. There is
work to be had
Grinning to be done.