By Sarah Law

Each iridescent bubble is
suspended in the void,
as though blown from a jar
of liquid concentrate, through
some bright circle
at the centre of it all –

Whose breath flowed
from beyond the gauzy portal?

Each sphere is free,
flimsy and flammable,
catching the light of
the moon, the splendour
of a blazing sun. This
floating ball is all you are,

liable to burst,
becoming nothing

but that the breath
that launched the world
and set you gently in it
saves you
through the same bright word
that gave you form

and life for life.

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