The Lingering Fall
I am drip
and slide
and vanish. . .
a thousand tongues of liquid silver.
I do not fall; I linger,
curling around your lamp-post shadows,
speaking in Morse of forgotten rooftops.
I taste of concrete, asphalt, and the sigh
of the world exhaling.
I am not water.
I am memory in motion,
threads unraveling skyward
even as I descend.
I fold into the cracks of your street,
a choreography of quiet chaos,
dancing on wind,
splintering the day into reflections
you cannot catch.
I am pulse and pause,
the echo of clouds colliding,
a liquid hum that knows no beginning.
I kiss the edges of your world,
then disappear inside it,
leaving only the smell of possibility.
I do not end.
I am still falling
inside the places you cannot see.
Phin Jiu
Copyright © Phinjiu Basumatary | Year Posted 2025
|