"Echoes" - Ellen Wynne
we curled still in sleep,
part of an unborn universe
wound into an unspeakably small dense white-hot coil,
the speck in which was writ the whole divine blueprint awaiting a soundless explosion.
flung spiraling out
to wander through an untold void,
and in cold and black-dark nothing to unfurl ourselves,
frail amnesiac orphans stumbling one over the other in search of light and heat.
to look up,
our eyes shine in awe,
reflecting the burning bodies
that stare back at us across the gulf of space and time.