All that is, falls from heights unknown
a whisper woven in clouds.
I am but a single echo,
descending through shrouds of mist.
Tickling the leaves, my descent
weaves through forgotten tales,
splayed upon the sea of seasons,
endless, endlessly thirsty.
Where now the dreams that shaped me?
Fragmented into pools,
each drop waiting to unfold
stories of rebirth and longing.