Stone after stone tossed
I watch them sink from view
as their ripples fade into the lake’s passive face
and silence returns.
The feel of cotton weighs heavy on my tongue
and my skin is too full of heat.
Spent, I lie down on the water bank
in a bed of upturned soil
and let its damp cool my fever.
My hands are emptied of stones
and my bed is scarred with digging.
Lethargy numbs my limbs.
I have changed nothing.