The earth ripples with it,
under all it runs like water –
slips like drops unnoticed.
At that first touch we shiver,
our skin unused to the shock of cold.
We are cloth, rough and swiftly woven,
we blow in the breeze,
dancing in the air above the tides,
fighting the gravity pulling us
into weight, a frozen drowning
of the free will we defend so mercilessly
(as if it could be taken away).
We see in water only an end to flight,
in surrender only oppression.
But water as it runs through cloth
is water delighting itself,
and in its tender passage
cloth is transformed.
the weight in its spun fibres
lets it stretch and open
and pinpricks of sun reach through
till the ground below
is a mass of stars in midday.