when the rivers turned to stone

we hiked over those rocks
looking for a scab of water.
you licked the surface of a boulder
& told me you could feel the rain.
none of us had drank for years 
but we remembered vividly
the feeling of cool blue
rushing through us. once, when i was small
my father bathed me. poured water
over my head & scrubbed me clean.
my skin glistened like sliver. 
now, there are children 
who have never seen water. they float
an inch above the ground, nothing
tethering them to the dirt.
so they will disappear
through the clouds & we will only have
their shoes. instead of water at the river, 
we found snakes 
all knotted in their dens. 
they were telling
mother stories & singing 
a low hum. i could have joined in
but it might have been rude.
they were mourning their limbs.
the rocks trembled 
with their intonations. 
walking further you told me
the story of a frozen waterfall nearby.
said it used to rush so harshly
all the surrounding woods
were cloaked in mist. 
laying on our backs i said
i might float away too if i don't find
a drop soon. you said 
you wondered if the future 
might be better off without
all of our needs. i am a creature
of cravings. i do not know
if i could exist without them.
would i even be animal?
no, no i think i would be stone.
you covered your face
with your hands & the sun 
did its daily shrinking
to the size of a pin-pick. 
rock, shivering, i swear i felt
a minute drop of water
on my forehead. i did not tell you,
i just looked up at the shadowy sky
& briefly believed 
in my own personal micro storm.

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