While swimming in the riverI saw underneath it a riverof stars. Only there was noriver: it was noon. You cansay the sun is a river; youcan argue the stars back itlike shirts behind a closetdoor; you can say the earthholds us up with its weightor that it means well or itmeans anything. There is nocloset, nor door; there areno shirts hanging anywhere.There is no false wall thatleads deep into the earth’sbowels, growing warmer witheach step. Warmth as a con-cept has ceased to make anysense. In contraposition tocold, it might, but cold aswell stepped out last nightand hasn’t returned. Last Iheard, it went out swimmingand might’ve drowned. Treeswere the pallbearers at thefuneral, the train was longand wailful, there was muchwailing and gnashing of allteeth–though there were noteeth, no train, no funeralor prayer or trees at all–nor a river underneath any-thing. There was nothing tobe underneath anymore. Lookaround, and tell me you seesomething. Look around, andtell me something that I donot know. I know, more thananything, that the world isalways ending. Behind that,there is nothing, save thatthere is no nothing either.
Nothing somehow still turnsand flows past us, past alltime and beyond it, a riverreturning, to its forgottenorigins deep within itself.