Falling

Midnight spots illusion ink on a canvas,
Melding with veins of deep brown.

A bird who once sung cried,
As she fell, light as a feather,
Plummeting through marshmallow clouds
While her soul soared up,
Through worlds different to our own.

And a parcel of softness that once kept her warm and dry,
Fell with her, slower,
Riding the wind as it answered
The call of the ground,
Slowly, silently, softly.

Midnight spots illusion ink on a canvas,
Melding with veins of deep brown
Against a sky of sequins.