on the night of each year

the miller would sit with

his quern-stone

hoary, and rolling on rynd,

it always names him the river;

quondam! river dust!

but, on this night, with the stone

in quiet repose; its aye,

its anything, every

for it can’t be tomorrow, when

water again must engage the burr,

and new, and past, returns

Andreas Dahl 2013