What if there is such a thing
as a soul?  Not nebulous,
not conveniently abstract,
not six inches above,
but a tiny thing, a spiralling
light blue ribbon, if held against
the sky’s pure azure.

And far from being given
the adjectives of fear,
it just holds ajar the door
to the parallel world of hope.
What if we got the sizes wrong?
A small soul? The smallest God?

So small that invisible.
A fleck shrouded in dark matter,
somewhere far, in between stars
passing through a flare
and casting us out
as shadows on a ball?