She Fell

A cloud
passing overhead
released a solitary drop.

She plunges through air
with as much abandon
as friction will allow her,
the while losing bits of self
to the surroundings.

Down, down, down,
she falls down;
warm through the cold,
wet through the dry

Until a violently soft contact
presages a realization

For the smallest fraction of a moment
she feels her roundness
spreading flat
over something colder,
vaster,
more dense

The vast abyss opens,
opens beneath her,
emptying her
into the flow of everything.

A short conversation,
but full of meaning:

She knew herself,
she found other,
and, recognizing it,
by the tension of the meeting,
found other welcoming,
even loving.

She belonged here,
she knew,
and was happy now to stay,
at least until the sun might
call her back to the sky.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen