I am falling from high
but they do not notice.
The air, through wings
that promised much,
keens like a mourner.
Creeping ants below
evolve
to shepherd, ploughman, angler.
I fall unseen.
Someone
will dream it later.
I have no time
to scream.
The water is
hard as stone.
Richard Fleming
Image : Pixabay - dimitrisvetsikas1969
