Falling

rummaged feathers- no longer supporting
the flight -counting diminution
she opens...poor belated naive thinking she won't break
her withered bones

feeble, defenceless against the impact,
yet she can still be vertical...
is that of any confort? she needs no confort yet she hankers for it
neither triumphant, nor martyr she claims history...
the pieces spread...nothing in common...just a pathetic origin
embarrassing remorces, simultaneously nostalgia for previous,
heading towards a previous tomorrow -
blames herself for lacking ...emptyness...
first floor...she thinks "senseless"...
like water, like well...