Footfall, Salt, Heat

Root and Breath

Feb 25, 2026

When Stabilise wrote to me about “Footfall, salt, heat,” I realised the line had already left my hands. It had travelled. Through her memory, through a different landscape, through mountains I have never stood beneath.

This piece began as a prompt about nature and a presence that felt human. It became something else: a conversation about standing, about movement without abandonment, about how land remembers what we try to forget.

We met in the space between nature and language. She brought breath and movement. I brought the hum and the roots. The rest grew where rocks and soil agreed.

It has been a privilege to write this alongside her.

ㅤ

From stabilise,
When I read Mark’s work, I find myself captivated by his gentle use of language, how he manages to write about landscapes and human nature with a type of esotericism. He wrote a specific line, “Footfall, salt, heat,” and I knew I wanted to write a piece about that line with him. It was an honour to challenge myself and work alongside an incredible poet.

ㅤ

Where he stood, there was a slow and steady
hum. It began as a whisper of a breath before
gaining momentum and drawing near.

Between each sound, a fortress appeared
in the shape of a doe-eyed girl who was
wandering up a path, wading through
tall grass, fingers carrying stray branches
and stones as though they were scrolls.
Her tongue trips over a verse when
she catches sight of him.

Footfall, salt, heat.

Legs teaching soil how to speak,
his bow slowing the very air.
A breeze whispering to the grass,
take care of this girl,
the mountains know her name,
and stones know her touch.

He feels the ground speak again.

Footfall, salt, heat

She wanders even closer still,
bare soles treading close enough
for her to hear the spreading
of roots.

“There will be blood,”
he says. “I know,” she
replies.

The entire world stinks
of copper, but this isn’t
an elegy. The roots draw
nearer, each moment compelling
the earth to shake in slow and subtle ways.

My roots sink deeper
than your memories
your youth still on you,
but not your measure,
in this place.

You feel the passing through your feet,
the leaves whisper in your ears,
but some only see their impermanence,
even within the tending of their years.

This ground isn’t ravaged by time,
it’s torn apart with each bloodline lost,
with each broken breath that draws them closer
to a place even she fears to tread.

The stench is this realm
yet strength it grows,
each moment,
of wind, water, footfall,
keeps hold down low.

Footfall, salt, heat.

In spite and perhaps even
because, she allows her body
to be embraced. It is a gentle
melding, a slow and steady
yielding, an acquaintance with
that which knows how to
occupy a space without
relinquishing its ephemeral nature.

Winds maybe, regardless,
the shapes of branches
are the earth’s way of
remembering itself.
Though there may be
bloodlines lost, there is
a tenderness in his rigid
nature, how he does not shy away
from the violence of the earth,
but allows her fingers to tremble
against his trunk and limbs long
enough to understand the impact
of time.

Footfall, salt, heat.

He had felt honesty through his limbs before.
It touched the pain of years bent against progress.
Stone, fire, and breath burnt him hard.
Yet something here in this tender girl
Rock made way for bow,
wind calls grass close,
it now is yours to grow.

Trunk and roots stand strong,
no harm could fall upon one
who stands near.
I see your fingers touch upon my limbs,
and feel the memories of bloodlines lost.

It began with a low down hum,
but rocks and roots held strong.
Ground echoed with sounds of footfall,
of salt upon dry lips where soil turned to sand.

The hum stays low,
and the roots do not move.

Footfall, Salt, Heat.

She does not move, preferring
instead to keep her palms steady
until there are traces of sap,
not saccharine sickness,
but fingers capable of
understanding how
nature bleeds.

Footfall. Salt. Heat.

ㅤ

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