Last of the Ascension (Verse) - 1
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He stepped out of the street—
and the world nearly refused him.
A bus claimed the space he had occupied—
as if he had never been meant to stand there.
The curb rose too late.
The ground received him without question.
Sand pressed into his skin—
a reminder: he was back in a body.
Above him, gulls laughed—
as if survival required no explanation.
The 11:10 Southbound passed—
and took his music with it.
Songs collapsed under its final wheel—
no echo, no return.
He lay there—
between what had held him and what had released him.
Stardust gone from his mouth—
salt taking its place.
His heart raced—
not from the fall, but from the return.
Today.
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