I love stones. I love the way they feel in my hand, how they skip over the water, or heavily sink. While doing a search for something related to skipping stones I stumbled upon this poem. Not only did I find a new poetry journal to read, but also a wonderful poet to look for. Isn't the Internet a strange and marvelous thing?
The Weight of What Is Thrown
by Joe Wenderoth
Smooth stones have always appealed to me.
River stones, I guess they’re called,
though the best ones come from ocean shoreline
where cliffs are crumbling and tides are rising
and perfecting what they have broken.
Read the entire poem.