does not fall.
remembers.

A thread undone, a breath unspilled,
a sound collapsing
not breaking, but becoming smthng new.

grey echoes shatter in slow motion,
spilling light into places unnamed,
a tide that never reaches shore,
a river that forgets the mouth that bore it.

What is it to descend without landing?
To dissolve without vanishing?
To stretch without ever having been whole?

Somewhere, between the first note and the last silence,
it lingers — as the space between —
cascade