Trumpet's notes as smooth as velvet
on old, musty antique couches
or forgotten, sweeping dress
hanging behind a bookshelf
full of yellowed volumes

Splashing, you and I,
across quiet streets
the drizzle making them shine
like silver keys, speckled with age
or all these leftover jewels
still sparkling in my eyes

Cobwebs and creaking stairs
and then out into the fresh air again
walking under dripping green awnings
flapping occasionally in the breeze
like startled birds,
ducks who like the rain