People are putting up storm windows now,
Or were, this morning, until the heavy rain Drove them indoors.
So, coming home at noon,
I saw storm windows lying on the ground,
Frame-full of rain; through the water and glass I saw the crushed grass, how it seemed to stream Away in lines like seaweed on the tide Or blades of wheat leaning under the wind.
The ripple and splash of rain on the blurred glass Seemed that it briefly said, as I walked by,
Something that I should have liked to say to you,
Something . . .the dry grass bent under the pane Brimful of bouncing water . . . something of A swaying clarity which blindly echoes This lonely afternoon of memories And missed desires, while the wintry rain Unspeakable the distance in the mind!) Runs on the standing windows and away.
Howard Nemerov was born on February 29th, 1920 in New York.
He died of cancer at his home in University City,
Missouri on July 5th 1991.
