Whisper it slow, She floats now in the cold blue between stars, no ground beneath her white dress. The ribbons have become roots of night, tethering her to nothing and everything. Tiny lights,fireflies or distant souls ...circle her like questions she no longer asks. Her veil trails behind her the way memories trail the living. She is no longer falling. She is no longer rising. She has become the pause between heartbeats, the breath the universe takes when it dreams of brides who never reached the altar.