Poem: hope

It’s not the rejection,
it’s the one more rejection.

It’s the feeling,
that it all stands still,
here it is,
here it stays.

Standing outside,
hand out,
hoping a gold coin,
falls into it,
at first might make sense,
but …
how many days is it?

There’s trying,
there’s thinking,
there’s all the things,
no gold coin,
falls in the hand.

Today though,
there isn’t giving up,
there’s that irrational persistence,
that hope of the coin,
that hope that eventually,
sitting among the apple trees,
this will be a nice story.