Howard Nemerov

(29 February 1920 – 5 July 1991 / New York City, New York)

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Because You Asked About The Line Between Prose And Poetry


Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.

There came a moment that you couldn't tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003
Edited: Thursday, June 30, 2011

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