Flight falling

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.

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 radiance bright.