Strained, faded breaths
as the bucket tips to spill me upon the ground
splashed against the cobblestone
beneath the noon day sun
only to feel such seepage
slipping away through the cracks and evaporated all too fast
Gills dissolving to suck this foreign matter
sputtering and choking
fading to nothingness beneath the rays
hollowed and blown away to cycle again
steady winds within, shifting deeper
eroding my soul to remake me anew
sloughing to the ground once more
bits of me splashed here and there
sizzled upon the hot stone
invisible and on the breeze
a shattered winged statue left behind as the only reminder of what was
soft downy feathers a seeming illusion
before dusting away on the winds
dampened ground parched to dry

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Severin, in the year 137 MA.