Darkness falls and the city quiets,
All but the distant sound of a single cicada
In a lonely heart’s song of yearning,
And the unmetered drum of errant rain drops
Diving from tree tops to the puddles below
In one last fatal ballet.
The chilly rain now just a memory,
The city draped in a veil,
Ethereal, a haunting prison of mist,
Now almost invisible, but tangible still.
The world left in a place of reverent stillness,
As if reality has suspended for a brief moment in time,
And we are all but in a dream.
The View from Here 
Ah, such a beautiful dream! You know, as a child we sang, “Row, Row, Row Your Boat”, where the last line is ‘Life is but a dream’. We so didn’t “get it” then, or I didn’t, anyway, but now, and it has for me for quite sometime now, makes perfect sense. A very descriptive poem…thank you for sharing it.
Thank you, Jan. It’s always scary to share poetry- I don’t know what the heck I’m doing- just wrote what speaks to me. Thank you for reading and for appreciating it. ❤️