The Knife That Wouldn't Hold an Edge

I'm at someone's kitchen table and the light is all wrong, greenish, like a fish tank. The knife they hand me is made of water, and when I run it across the stone it doesn't sing, it just clicks, and the water on the stone turns dark, keeps turning dark no matter how much I rinse it. I keep stroking the blade but the edge stays dull, and then I realize the river has moved inside the house, and there's a path of stones leading out the back door, each one a little too smooth, like they've been waiting for me for a long time.