Even as the fall lays out Seeping its change into Closing ground, I feel the Roots spelunking south Filtering hope through Chambers devoid of sound The quiet spark belayed By a drought of heart Nestles the jagged spines Splintered from the source To somehow stagger time As I dip my hands Into barren streams Refreshing myself with Empty promises and Severed words I find the oxygen Deftly deposited amidst Untempered corridors Encircling my origin