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| I am out on the finger. Toes touched, toes held by the fickle of pebbles. Some of them warm and round, some of them ashen and sharp. Arms outstretched for balance. I have come to the finger. I have come to stand on the finger. I have come to see the water the finger points out on. I have come to look in. Where am I beautiful on this surface? I am deep and tipped. Things pass over me, and all of them are substantial. It is difficult to focus my eyes. Deep in the bowl, out on the finger, making charms from stones and superstitions. |
| If I Should Fall From Grace |
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| by Chloe Meakin |