Author Charles Reznikoff Speaking and speaking again words like silver bubbles,we walk at dusk through rain.The sky has grown black with a tinge of red from the street-lamps;triangular pools form in the square cracks of the pavement,noisy with rain. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments