Clouds swirl over a bone-dry mountain.
A circle of stones at the apex
reflects crystalline sparks
as lightning-twisted trunks of
fallen trees hum and linger in the field of change.

Change, I want to write about change,
about how the mystery rises and falls
leaving us unable to belong in the world, 
afraid of illusions dancing on walls.

The cycles move in us, groove in us,
cutting us to the bone, until we surrender at last,
unable to use our free will to resist destiny.

When all along we needed to crash over the 
approaching ominous waterfall to experience dying, to 
jump from the edge of the world into eternal mists.