Rain on my balcony

It's cold out here,
Out on my balcony in the evening gloom,
Soaking up the rain-sound falling on my ears.
Peripheral flashes vie for my attention,
On the left the orange pulsing pedestrian
Crossing through the night, on the right,
A white crane winking urgently at passing planes.
All around, all night, the rain falls,
I watch the soldierly drips form upon the rail,
Soldierly? No, like frightened children,
Awaiting the first plunge.
Closing my eyes I can isolate the sounds,
Drops on the plastic roof of a new school below,
Dancing like a thousand typewriters staffed by crisp,
Efficient secretaries. Drops on the pavement far below,
Solid endings, fanciful flights fallen to earth and draining
Away. Drops on the glass windows at my back, familiar
instrumental sounds which called me out to listen.
Cold drops on my skin, now I am leaning forward, alive,
But silent in this falling world, for my drops make no sound.
Alive, and silent, soaking, listening to the whisper of the rain,
An amusing conversation overheard in a bar on a cold night,
As the rain patters on the panes and draws me out.