A foot crunches down
upon my stony head
and stays for maybe a moment.
It is a woman's;
the boot is delicate.
I treasure the weight
like I would gold,
even as it forces me down.
Down into the quick,
quick running river,
which spits and scrapes
and slides and gnaws
and growls and claws
against my stony head.
And that is all.
I'll resurface soon.
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