I am falling from the heights made by parts,
winged not, nor supported by the air,
no sound attends my fierce descent,
nor pain awaits the ending of its tract.
No death will come of this acceleration,
nor will my body be smashed by false impact.
It is joy, just joy, to have fallen so.
I am falling from the heights learned by heart,
winged in spirit, supported by memory fair.
No sound can express my fierce intent,
no pain enough will sweetness detract.
Sweet death of self awaits conception,
when all my body is a channel from which life contracts.
It will be joy, just joy, to in the real,
be all that here, you make me feel.