Impersonal

Rain falls, and finds

Nothing indelible. Rain erases

Footprints of kings and the traces

Of thieves from terrace and walls,

And the bright trail

That the snail leaves when he passes

Through dusty grasses.

Night rain falls

Softly in desolate places;

At the wharves' ends

Impersonally descends,

On the white desperate faces,

The gray rats, the black beams,

The yellow backs and haunches of the streams.