Slipstream

This is sootfall, and a freefall too down from inky space, a wash of prussian and ochre, the swift hours’ handprints visible and then gone.

You are a flush of light. You are night and the days piling up behind, a wake of ashes and stars.

You are a slow flow and tumble; you are the raven’s call, and the deep bassoon thrum of the dark’s waterfall, the staircase between worlds.

A flurry of embers. A smudge on the cool air. Fingerprint in space. The human race speeding up. Slipstream. Your own heart thrust into blossom.

~ Roselle Angwin, from Bardo