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  • Writer's pictureRosalind Ridout


I lie there, back on stones, shoulders on stones, bones on stones

I feel the cold water stroke my skin from toe to head

I become it, it becomes me, we become touch and sound

My breath is the sea, swelling, retreating

My body is the stones, each moving against another

My breath is the water, its softness to my skin

My body is the stones, sinking down, resting, supported

My breath is the water, filling up, emptying

My body is the stones, dancing, singing

My mouth is lined with cliffs, the singing resonates

The water soothes the stones, buries the stones, reveals the stones

The water plays the stones

The water entwines itself with the stones

Their music soars.

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