Falling

What is it that keeps dropping,

Falling away from its source?

The original fabric looser, less complete,

Yet vivid, original, distinct,

Thinned to transparency except

In the tumult of falling

Straight to the bottom under gravity’s rule:

Conditions that are set, evolved to,

Some fools name progress

As if the vast mechanics of space

Lent an ear to suffering or the illusion of suffering;

Nothing more than a chasm,

Tumbling, misting spray, an aura,

Crystalline movement over and over terrain.