A Mountain Stream

disrupts its stones the way
a jaded player, throwing dice, makes

the same pass, 
continually. In ceaseless splash, the tossed 
stones buck and click, 

almost to fit
the same positions once again, almost, but 

not quite. I’ve walked a ways uphill
to find this source. Sunlight
refracts. Green plants 

trail fingers in the wash. I fall asleep and dream
it carries me

the same way it will take these stones, slowly
at first, then gathering
speed

headlong down the mountain’s side. And in
the tumult of its rush, I think

I hear, as I imagine they must, if a stone had
ears to claim, eventual ocean
call my name.

Susan Shafarzek‘s work has previously appeared in a number of publications, including Common Ground, The Broad River Review, The Denver Quarterly, Inkwell, and The Roanoke Review.