I fall, I fall, from heights unknown,

curtains of mist, curtains of green,

the empire of leaves, of ancient whispers.

Here in the cradle of a needle-fingered tree,

contemplating the rhythm of the spiral dance,

eternal, like the pulse of a cosmic heartbeat.

What am I but a decimal in a vast ocean?

Yet here, I am everything and nothing.

To the dry soul of the stone, I am a trickle, a sleek tremor.

To the forest's giant, I am a parenthesis in its continuous sentence,

each syllable a sunbeam filtering through canopy curtains.

Do you remember the cascade's laughter?

Or the sighing of the burrowing earth?

Here, I hang like a thought in ether, like dew on dawn's whisper.