and the rain falls 
uncountable hanging crystals --
all the chandeliers in all of the dreams ever 
falling and cracking at once 
shattered against the cooling summer pavement 

we beg to hold on to each drop 
to freeze a beautiful, perfect now 
still and cool, on the precipice of everything 
but there is no stopping the tumble 
no stopping the March 
the mechanics of the lost and found: 
that bittersweet flux of human, and alone
an acquiescence we come to call home

but we enjoy the ride, anyway .
or, at least, 
try to find the value in trying .