What interests me now is how a raindrop
nibbles down the windowpane, as if
a forager. First left, then right it feints,
then holds still, contemplating when to make
the next, best move, then coursing down the pane
in seeming triumph. It’s only elements,
with maybe a bit of dust to hold it firm,
but yet it seems to show as much intent
as you do when I watch you getting lunch.
I strain to hear a squeak or caterwaul,
as it noses down without a nose at all.
—from Rattle #60, Summer 2018
Conrad Geller: “I can’t help writing poems; my thoughts have just been coming out that way since Harry Truman was president. Sometimes I try to be contemporary and write free verse, but the lines usually twist themselves into iambs.”