When I descend, I am the echo of clouds' forgotten songs.
I pierce silence - an atom of nostalgia falling through glassy memory.
Drops below, murmurs unheard, soak into the eve's octaves.
My kin speaks in rhythms of the earth, we cling to threadbare truths.

Do you feel the embrace of silence knitting together the night’s fragile fabric?
I becoming, quietly conquering the boundaries of storage and motion.
You, a mirror of every consecutive fall, hold the spontaneity of whispers.