CABARET OF THE CLOUDS

Soft footsteps walk through streets near school,

Past yesterday’s townhouses.

In each nostalgic molecule

Is something, which arouses.

Old lessons learned so long ago

(Viola, drums or trigon)

Resurface, just enough to know:

Those tunes aren’t fully bygone.

A new sound crashes near the bay,

And shakes the stone rotunda.
The sky shows nature’s cabaret,

With sudden roaring thunder.

Brief moments pass, and summer heat

(Which caused the town to swelter))

Gives way to frantic dampening feet,

Which find a tunnel’s shelter.

Some recent wounds are laundered clean;

But past lives’ recollection

Remains, where tables and caffeine

Accompany retrospection.

The railway tracks are drowned in rain,

Up on the bridge, forestalling

The movement of the peak hour train;

As time froze memories falling.

An hour of this would irk some folk;

But nature gives a quarter,

So ferns and flowers can quickly soak
Themselves in purest water.

Then skies, which were extremely dark

(To back-project on lightning)

Conclude their cloud-to-cloud skylark,

With sunshine slowly brightening.

Those footsteps cling to water drops,

When they resume their movement:

Brief souvenirs of how life stops,

And starts with cleansed improvement.

Should company find its calling here,

The call would be for cuddles,

And sharing views of boats and pier,

With boots in smaller puddles.

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