LICKS

I know a boy who goes out searching for things that will never change their shape. Never change at all. He seeks hard stones – and only stones so hard that winds and water dare not lick them from fear of appearing powerless.
He plunders the earth.
Fills his tiny pocket with rock.
And when he comes home, exhausted and hungry, he breaks down in tears at finding out that yet again he got home with a pocket full of lizards.