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By Phillis Levin

For this you may see no need,

You may think my aim

Dead set on something

Devoid of conceivable value:

An Anthology of  Rain,

A collection of voices

Telling someone somewhere

What it means to follow a drop

Traveling to its final place of rest.

But do consider this request

If you have pressed your nose

Of any shape against a window,

Odor of metal faint, persistent,

While a storm cast its cloak

Over the shoulder of every cloud

In sight. You are free to say

Whatever crosses your mind

When you look at the face of time

In the passing of one drop

Gathering speed, one drop

Chasing another, racing to reach

A fork in the path, lingering

Before making a detour to join

Another, fattening on the way

Until entering a rivulet

Running to the sill.

So please accept this invitation:

You are welcome to submit,

There is no limit to its limit,

Even the instructions are a breeze

As long as you include

Nothing about yourself

Except your name. Your address

Remains unnecessary, for the rain

Will find you — if you receive it

It receives you (whether or not

You contribute, a volume

Is sent). And when you lift

The collection you may hear,

By opening anywhere, a drop

And its story reappear

As air turns to water, water to air.

  • Arts & Sciences
  • Living
  • Nature

Poet Bio

Phillis Levin
Phillis Levin was born and raised in Paterson, New Jersey, and educated at Sarah Lawrence College and The Johns Hopkins University.  She is currently a professor of English and the Poet-in-Residence at Hofstra University. See More By This Poet

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