Beneath the misty front,
All swirls to seize the dying day,
The sound of waves comes dry upon the ears,
It tumbles over self,
And clumsy through the lovely rain,
And layers to its fall like threading rice,
The pitter to the patter making friends,
These little sounds all peak above their ranks,
To find a symphony and glorious song.

Hanging panels stand attent,
Looking down on passing strangers,
Eating drinking laughing bent,
Encumbered in wafting aromas,
Drawn down into a meal well spent,
Accompanied by passing friends,
Soon scattered, for a moment rent-
Apart, but found again as surely as
The sky returns to vivid marigold after the night.

Rain walking through the air between,
Waltzing verticle to my feet,
Greeting red clothe over my head,
It's soft chattering scatters on the concrete.