The Evening Forecast

Someday, you’ll be weather, just
Weather itself that can’t be
Disappointed, can’t be faith

In what it’s supposed to be,
Or doubt in its own nature,
Weather. Moving air, moisture,

The molecular remains
Of people after seizures.
You, my friend, my old friend, will

Someday become the weather,
And nobody will find you,
Digging down through the wrong clues.