Descent of the Flame
She longs to touch, to weep, to taste,
To leave the sky for time and waste.
The soul’s descent is not a fall—
She enters form to hear the call.
This flesh, a veil; this breath, a gate;
To be embodied is her fate.
The sneeze erupts, the nerves awake—
A body’s protest, quick and quake.
In pepper’s spark, the world comes near,
As chaos pulls the inner clear.
So sudden is the shock of grace—
It meets the soul full in the face.
