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.

5 comments on “Stones

  1. paul1510 says:

    very imaginative, I think of nurturing, as in planting.

  2. brian miller says:

    have you not? do the ripple not reach out from the stones…to me it feels weary a bit and perhaps wondering at the difference one makes…

  3. claudia says:

    sometimes we think we have changed nothing..but is it really so or are we just not able to see it in moments like this..?

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