There is thunder on the light wind,
And I wonder if she hears me
Across a glass table eyes
Cling to her delicate movements.

Her hand tips the frosty glass
As the other hovers in suspense of a stray drop,
Like she could catch everything
That might spill onto the cold pavement
where we sit.

The rain begins to drop from the clouds.
As she sits on the passenger seat
A car sailing down worn roads hidden from sight.
I sit on the edge
Of the umbrella, my face slick already,
Eyes avoiding the place
where she sat.