Read the excerpt from "Deucalion and Pyrrha” by Carla Nappi.The man and the woman found themselves in a library. And they began opening the books. They scooped out phrases like small stones and threw them out the window. As each one landed on the ground or in the water, or as it took flight, it grew into a being that could inhabit this new world and populate its then, its now, and its to-come.First they made the past. . . .And then they opened their eyes, and made the present.He gave "a spreading wilderness of sudden waters” to the air. Each word grew liquid in a wet way that took on its character: sheets of moisture that bled out over the earth, and fogs of water that grew wild worlds inside them, and flashings of saturation. And in this way, he made the rain. (And it was a living, languaged thing.)