Ever the rushing downpour around us

our hands reaching out to it

hoping to fill a cup with just a few drops

and drink enough to feel a part of the waking sky

before desert falls again around us

and the rain clouds dissipate like smoke

All these millions of hands reaching

as though our fingertips might touch the face of divinity

only to find a cascade of paper masks

already dissolving in the storm

but we wear them anyway

and we look at each other

watching false beauty melt away in the rain

and we pretend not to see what sorrow lies beneath

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Photo by Daniel Gregoire on Unsplash