I am drifting,
in nothingness.
All I see are fireglobes;
one that I've left behind,
shattered,
one tomorrow, I'm channelled toward.
It is decided now,
every fragment, everything I find,
and everything I don't,
determined this motion.
Like blossom that has poisoned its tree,
floating serenely, gracefully,
down.
Towards the earth that is no longer.
No longer than that blossom.
Subsumed by charcoal ash
I drift.
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