Becoming

There is no such thing as a made man, only the perpetual making of being shining through crystal haze. Unequipped soles walking bravely across the fog, falling into grace on sheets of rolling clouds.

Beautiful humans broken whole. Shifting, stretching, slipping, swerving, shedding.

Bodies dying and resurrecting, crossing roads unknown. Kissing black light.

Bright beings, touching the edge. Emerging softer, unstiffened. Eternally ablaze and in love with love.