Leaf found himself having been born. With a memory. Of wind and soil. From the wind, his sisters and brothers whispered to him. From the soil, they sang. Leaf’s nerves were roots, his roots nerves. He grew into his world. Seven years passed. Someone died. Leaf bent inwards. A mist…

  Walking through heather and fern onto a mountain hill   Laying on a bed of stones   they press into my body from different angles   Placing a hand on my stomach and wonder   where your stone is placed   Finding a puce rock weightless filled with pores…