A Rain Song

Drenched, soaking,

I enter the café,

Pocket empty of notes.

“A grande latte,

Make that a large”

“Cash or card?”  she asks

“A poem, actually.

I’ll pay with a poem”

She stares at me,

I need that coffee. I start,

My poem song.

At the corner table,

He sits alone.

I watch him,

Watch the rain.

The notes dance,

The notes fly,

A smile stains his eyes,

The coffee is still warm.

Drenched, soaking,

I leave the café,

Heart filled with the right notes.