Still no rain
outside in little Italy
tablecloths flapping
like loosened sails–
another night falls
into red glass lamps
a subtle storm
shy lightning
no thunder
only distant sirens
and a mournful
tenor sax–
even with all this
I am not really here
but am air myself
a wind a song
unable to be
in a place
without something
to hold me there–
someone to see
someone to hear
OPTIONAL POETRY 
So much longing and beauty!
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Thanks, Dharmesh!
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Brilliant images, short and succinct, a waterfall of wonderfulness cascading down the page. Well done!
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Thank you, Matt!
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I’ve also felt like that many times. Beautiful poem, it’s as though I was there!
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Thank you, Timoteo! Glad it resonated with you
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