Stones are easy to stack
when they have been split
and sanded. The challenge
is to balance uneven ones,
those shaped by nature’s

peculiar whims, or
those left
to their own devices —

like feral children bent on
revolt, intent on upsetting
our day’s order. They insist
that the stacker sit down to
watch how it is really done.

On pondering the parallels of stone stacking and poetry, and then landing as I often do on ‘the trouble’ with misfits.