Drifting through the dusky weave
of cloud and mist,
I am the quiet kiss
on the parched lips of soil.
In the labyrinthine descent,
each droplet upon my back
a universe of its own,
weaving stories in the weft of time.
Splashing upon worn stones
inscribed by ancient tongues,
I etch my presence
in the fleeting ripple of ink.
But who reads the inscriptions
of our ephemeral dance,
the silent odyssey of falls and drops?
Glistening upon the weary leaf,
I pause, a mirror to the vast sky,
and ponder:
will they remember me as I was —
a whisper in the storm?
Catch my echo in the slow
breathing of unseen realms,
or follow my descent to where earth embraces sky.