My breath stills. My fingers
stretch. Spine conscious,

I tuck in a racing ground
of blue-green flux.

Calves bare on pebbles, I count
grass blades and ant footsteps.

I decline eyelashes,
dog-rose berries, split veins

on a transparent leaf, the silent fall
of seconds, stones under one foot,

the other. I pinpoint birds
by call. Distant organs pulsate.

Hush wind fills up my skirts
and my toes are intrigued

into movement, till I stand

Suzanne Aigrain, 2003