Roger Mitchell - When the Stones Revolted

Nothing I know wants nothing, even stones. I’ve seen them lying in the riverbed, exhausted, toward the end of summer, and the river has thinned down to a film of pure transparency, when the stones revolted and rose against the river banks, which moved against them with such rootedness and loamy weight, they fell back shouting to the stars from which they’d come, don’t leave us. Which the stars…