Footfalls peter on cool glass,
Toes curling like a baby's fingers,
To face the ephemeral white foam,
A rising commotion.

In the depths my thoughts sleep,
Freed from their chatter,
Calm as a lake,
To witness that which birthed them.

The commotion swells bright,
Then retreats to the unknown,
Dark and deeply inviting,
A dive into the abyss.

From an ancient garden rains down,
An infinite luminance,
Drawing me upward,
To fly through a vast endless motion.

But the commotion draws me back,
The commotion never ceases,
Rinsing my thoughts away.
Rinsing my thoughts away.

Under this ancient starlight,
On this precipice of the earth,
I am no one,
I am free.