Snowmelt pours into the streambed.
Once the river’s set in motion,
water overturns the sharp-edged rocks.

Repeatedly, spring after spring,
the snow melts, even late into August,
transposing mountain rock
into song and dance.

As snow turns to liquid water,
all that water wakes the dull rocks
teaching rocks to move like gears,
smoothing their rough edges over time,
as if to round each square peg for a round hole.

Likewise, all day
I have been whittling words
to offer you this poem.

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