a furious dream of the human
spirit bourgeoning out of control
we are of dew ephemeral
blades of song touching oblivion of grass
textures of meaning
in a masquerade of folly
wistfully crowing the surface
little drops of being
little shrouded animals
of extinction and myth
nothing
becoming
nothing
above
nothing
inside
nothing
for
nothing
Beyond Language 
I could read this over and over.
the author isnt listed. :(
the blogger is the author