We are mud and starfire,
sewn into clay feet by gossamer threads,
bearing the precious weight of our world
in the space between each quivering atom.
We are abyss and bright bridge,
wingèd and rusty feathered,
breathtaken,
wide-eyed.
sewn into clay feet by gossamer threads,
bearing the precious weight of our world
in the space between each quivering atom.
We are abyss and bright bridge,
wingèd and rusty feathered,
breathtaken,
wide-eyed.
We are flight falling.
Grace plummeting carefree,
caught between heartbeats,
held up to the light.
We have no Heaven
but an explosion of moments,
the sunburst of a life
captured golden and bright.
Art Duy Hyunh
Woman on the Edge 
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