Lenient winter light, thinned even thinner
by water-on-window, by drops weirdly white. 
What do you see through to? Waiting on misfortune, 
a raven ruffles off rain, rattles low in the throat, 
sees me seeing, blinks, lifts wet wings, leaves:
that one prefers not to be looked at; it’s awkward:
eye beams make me visible then dismissible.
See white drops of rain like tiny moons
rolling oceanward down the window, see 
as words flowing down open space of page,
as a grammar of Time: make it opaque; 
lightly they alight, and just as lightly, leave.