Such rain we say with cheek against the pane

could make a house sprout second storeys;

then we stop talking altogether, to listen

to the sibilance of drops.  There is a feeling

that the storm outside, living so greatly, will

speak out our mind, for there are stringent

voices in the wind, and thunder stumbles on the

mountain top.  Close by, paths blur; the cedars

twist and strain, and the whole bare square

field soaks black with rain.


                                              From rooftree

to foundation flows the flood; we are as

pale as people under sea.  Storm, that is striking

for the deepest roots—make a change in me.