There is stillness here
after the storm
has spent its strength
and its casualties
of fallen frangipani flowers
pervade the night air
with fragrance.

There is silence here
not even a whisper
or a breath of wind
disturbs the mist
and the grass,
soaked with diamonds,
muffles the sound
of dripping branches.

And there is solitude
in the empty streets
as the pavement gleams
in the glow
of the light posts.

But not for me.

I hear echoes of laughter
as the frangipani scent

and voices
in the glitter
of rainwashed stars;

I sense footsteps
on the pavement,
but I know –

I am alone.

I am most alone
after it rains.



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