listening to your hands

softness
sinking
face on floor
pressure
no pressure
listening
to your hands
how softly they
touch and follow
i follow
follow my breath
your hands
anchor me in space
somehow
flying
floating on this breath
now
stops
never to come back again
always changing
filling a body that is
mine but also
billowing like a giant
balloon made of
parachute sail
fine, light and ephemeral
i am a baby
learning to take steps
in my parachute body.

(unedited stream of consciousness writing, sept 2014, exercise with Bettina Neuhaus)

it becomes poetry | shanda studd

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