the weather forecast said that today’s rain
moving in from the west will initially contain
a kind of silence, a speech empty of words,
the perfect nothingness that the narrator
endless tries to present in literature,
within the covers of books.
later this afternoon, constant reappraisals
will occur alongside literature’s
endless self-investigation and removal,
with further removal and change because silence
is the sound of existence
is the nothingness of potentially creative negation.
the rain is set to clear overnight
but will resume again tomorrow, heavier,
like a millstone around our necks that weighs
us down into being, into a reminder
of the very impossibility of emerging
from existence; the reminder
that death is the impossibility of dying,
and that the rain continues, always.