"These retroactive small
instances of feeling

reach out for a common
ground in the wet

first rain of a faded
winter. Along the grey

iced sidewalk revealed
piles of dogshit. papers,

bits of old clothing, are
the human pledges,

call them, "we are here and
have been all the time." I

walk quickly. The wind
drives the rain, drenching

my coat, pants, blurs
my glasses, as I pass."

Another instance of that "ars est celare artem" quality of Creeley's poet.