Cycle of the Fall

Liquid whispers
join the hum
of the sky
in longing.

No beginning,
no end.
Rhythm of descent.
Yet nearby, harmony waits.

In free-fall
there is only
a voice of droplets
and the tales we weave.

Listen.
Listen
to the void.
in every
pixelized plummet
listen

Echoes nestled
between pavement
embrace anonymity.