"Glass beads of rain multiply outside my window
as I gaze into a vista
that seems clouded, occluded
by these dancing drops that fall and stick and burst,
dripping their wet tails down the pane.
Where is my river in the mosaic of crystal beads
that fog the glass?
The river that flows up
while everything seems to be sailing and drifting down.
the river which carries the boats by my view
bringing strangers into my sight
even for a second or two
till they become clouded, occluded
by the mist that clings to the sides of the craggy Palisades.
It's hard to pull myself away from the window
and I strain to see if I can find the contour of the river's edge
in all the rain that drips and sprays and wets my glass."
~ Jeanne Newman