Stones remember,
the first cold plunge
in ice-melt currents
hurling the sense of fear.
They remember
each bump, each grind,
each sudden collision,
that carved their surface
to soft compliance,
yielding to the drag.
They remember
the murmuring bobble,
as gentler waters
tumbled them together,
stone on stone mumbling
in the cobbled bed.
They remember
the drought years -
sun cracking their dried backs,
leaving flakes and crack lines,
on once-smooth sides.
They remember
the roaring...
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