I was thinking to write to you about the weather
but you’ll hear about it in the tomorrow paper
you’ll find out how much it rained over here
how everything has overflowed
and went down hill
in torrents
until my knees trembled
and I had to sit
on a pile of things
out of which
it is hard to chose
so I’m writing to you
about nothing
no capitals
no paragraphs
anyhow
these letters are still alive
and hurt like hell
if I had to give them a name
they’d be black swans
with their throats sore
of a sound that doesn’t want
to come out