Watch the rain. It's coming near,
Racing, seeping through your memory.
Stored away, hid unfairly –
Silence falling off these liras.

Gentle notes of shadows fond,
Holding hands back in the night –
When you hoped the steps've been right,
Lost in streets in lonely gown.

Drops of sorrow, ticking clock.
Tunes of life despite arise
In the backyard. By surprise,
Flashes mingle with the log

Of the past both heard and spoken:
Prints that glared must decline.
You will decide to leave the night
Of that street by rainy token.

May 2020