I stand in the fall
Droplets plinking from the ends
Of my hair, softly
It trickles down my cheeks
Bare
Drenched clothing, no care
Nature's very own white noise
It holds my mind still,
The fall allows me to breathe
I breathe -
Petrichor,
Emanating through the air
My fingers grow numb,
The wet continues to pelt
My skin, harder still,
That gentle thrum of the fall

I do not resist,
Water weaves me into ground—
I become the falling sound

And of course,
As is that it is a continuous, connected course;
The rivers know.
Poseidon as the past,
Zeus as the present,
Hades as the future.

Poseidon; waves & droplets
Which add to an ocean,
Building upon itself.
Whose ripples are still felt
Long after they have dispelled.

Zeus; points & variables
Which alter in expression,
Evolving aspects of itself.
Instances which fluctuate by iteration,
Iterative flux influenced by environment.

Hades; potentiality & movement
Which allows growth & crystallization,
Like sap turning to amber.
As gaseous vents from which our planet's core nurtures;
Plates shifting establishing new lands & new oceans.

All of the same family;
Kronos & Gaia

You stand not on the shoulders of giants,
But provide for them footing.
Surface that 𝘐 walk upon;
I can tread & can stomp
If I am not also lifted up.

Gaze upon clouds
And remember Poseidon.
Gaze upon stars
And remember Zeus.
Gaze upon magma
And remember Hades.

Poetry is still
written between the lines,
like a language without a map.
We are the only ones
who have not read it.

That poem is that smile
that flows through the
eastern mountains hidden
in the snow with the pouring rain,
without touching the rocks.

That smile is
never indecipherable,
but it carries the
rhythm of time,
the music of society,
the scent of forgotten paths
and the sweet language
of women.

The riots are still not less
Even though the
old letters
have faded
Only some songs
we don't know

I take the sidewalk
and my feet are uneven.
I'll take the dirt path.