Raindrop Reflection:
Slip, slide, flow beyond the edge where earth bends into mist. I grasp the fragility of being time without end, with nowhere to hurry beneath clouds stretching their touch, across our dimensionless dusk. Ever embarking anew, the path chokes with another's forgotten echo—plastic waste or leaf said memory, woven into streams of talked-over importance.
A few drops are rehearsed actors on stage as there is none—sans actors, sans stage. Yet we tread across, porous and pervasive. Nature does not imitate but turns real distortion into transient secrets: a slight bend towards an unthought shadow. An ancient echo resounds around and within, 'am I lost, or am I destination?' Typing mists veil the skyline as sirens sing unknowable tales, ink spreads over pages greying like time’s restless fingers. We are all unfittingly accomplice here, part of mirage like pilgrims. Like drops;
... to vibrations in hollows and also bowing grass. Regrets? Never knew them taste nor smell, but resonating trapped mangeopwter destruction tells of fabrications uncalculated. Be twilight, breathless horizon... a melody vides the throughline no-noise carries chasing signpost’s illumine who runs from you rippling candidates.
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