The Winter Rain by Wendell Berry
The leveling of the water, its increase,
the gathering of many into much:
in the cold dusk I stop
midway of the creek, listening
as it passes downward
loud over the rocks, under
the sound of the rain striking,
nowhere any sound
but the water, the dead
weedstems soaked with it, the
ground soaked, the earth overflowing.
And having waded all the way
Across, I look back and see there
On the water the still sky.