Smaller stones I sew them into the hems of things. In the inner seams of jackets, in the blue denim crotch of a pair of jeans. I stuff some rounder grey stones in the upturned hems of trousers, and they shift when I walk. They rub against each, a comforting grating sound, an ankle shaker. Some I press into the grooves under my brogues and sneakers and every time I walk I tap dance. I lift myself light in the air to tease gravity and feel the stones pull my back to the earth with a clap and a clack. The larger ones - I wash them in salt-water, coil them in thin wire and chicken mesh and attached them to strips of leather to wear around my neck, my wrists. When I tie my hair into a high whorled bun on the top of my head, I slip a single stone in the folds of braid and hair. I have a stone I slip under my tongue when my words threaten to escape.