You say wind is only wind & carries nothing nervous in its teeth. I do not believe it. I have seen leaves desist from moving although the branches move, & I believe a cyclone has secrets the weather is ignorant of. I believe in the violence of not knowing. I've seen a river lose its course & join itself again, watched it court a stream & coax the stream into its current, & I have seen rivers, not unlike you, that failed to find their way back. I believe the rapport between water & sand, the advent from mirror to face. I believe in rain to cover what mourns, in hail that revives & sleet that erodes, believe whatever falls is a figure of rain & now I believe in torrents that take everything down with them. The sky calls it quits, or so I believe, when air, or earth, or air has had enough. I believe in disquiet, the pressure it plies, believe a cloud to govern the limits of night. I say I, but little is left to say it, much less mean it-- & yet I do. Let there be no mistake: I do not believe things are reborn in fire. They're consumed by fire & the fire has a life of its own.