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  • Rosalind Ridout

Monpou

You, the ball

The rich harmonies carry us through a phrase. And another.

Its intensity is found in you, little ball, fitting into the shape of my hand.

Its tension is found in slowness, as every muscle down my arm focuses on you.

Its intimacy is found between us. It is just us and the music.

We move quietly.

We twist, your circles mirroring the music.

The music pulls us upwards and its line draws you. We carve the air in a semicircle around where we were just sat.

The music transforms, darker, louder, profundo, diminished chords clattering.

The tension seeps into my body, down the muscles of my arms, into you, little ball.

It propels us forwards, towards watching eyes.

A sforzando amid a rising sequence affirms our strength. But it can't last.

We sit back where we were and lose ourselves once more in the circling melody.

Now they see us but we are hypnotised.

It is still just us.

Together we are lost. Away from the world. But we are together.

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