Spine aligned to floor, limbs starfished out
and growing liquid - 'allow yourself to relax' -
trying... trying. Oh... oh...
...
Replacement instructor favours
instrumental peace for final pose. Good.
Piano.
Its chords evoke a close shape
describing something... swaying, yet somehow... anchored.
A boat?
A lightly buffeted balloon?
No,
something held fast, though - something held
down low.
Kelp?
A deep sea threshing accompaniment, yes,
but no.
A tree? Hmmmm.
A dark, fine needled thing. A shooshing pine - yes, yes
and now melody intercedes, rich and budded tight
yet somehow fragile and sharp-edged,
in its tink, tink
ling
as if... as if... ... ... ...decorated it is
with spiralling elliptical gold, translucent globes
that willingly fall, joyful-autumnal.
They shatter in exquisite sequence -plink! Kish...... plink! Kishhh.
Needling waves
                        have me now,
the cold alluvial sand, seasoned with peaty-peppery debris
and shining quartz grit-grains, ah,
the pines behind our farm,
the land that says: I was once a reef and one day I will
return.
.
No man is an island
but perhaps...

perhaps a woman can be
an archipelago.