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If One Will Rest At All

by Scott Kurtz

The Mountain weeps because it is alone.
The Sand cries out because it's underfoot;
Though both are stone,
And both can breathe the air.

The Mountain's mourning echoes evermore
Against the walls of granite and of gold.
He cannot feel the shore
Or speak the language of the waves.
He talks instead in dialect of mist
With far too many clouds who just insist
To congregate about his head and shroud the view.

And Sand on sea-shore, speaking with the waves,
Regails the Ocean with its glorious past:
Of epic vistas carved by ice, and lakes of glass.
And burnt by midday sun, each grain complains
Of worthlessness - save for children's castles,
And the running through of fingers;
The digging in of toes.

And what do you suppose
the Clouds say to the Mountain
and the Ocean to the Sand?
They whisper, "God designed it
so that peace is where you find it."

But the Mountain and the Sand,
They never understand.

* * *

So speaking to each other back and forth,
The Mountain finds the Clouds are out of sorts.
They long to join the music
Of the seething of the tides.
And though they soon will go to join the waves,
Impatience takes its hold, and each drop complains
About the fall -
'Cause it takes pain to get where one will rest
. . . If one will rest at all.

And if you closely listen above it all
you may hear the Sea's petition to the Sand
"Oh how I long to loose the bonds of gravity and land!
And see through raindrop-eyes!
So instead of gazing up toward the sky,
I shall be suspended in it!
And stretch a little closer
(though the distance is infinite)
to the throne."

And what, may it be known,
Does the Mountain say to Mist,
And the Sand say to the Sea?
They speak (with gentleness and kind)
That happiness is in the mind
Where hope resides.

But the Ocean and the Clouds
Never find out for themselves.