In a playa amidst the Sagebrush state,
There lie paths along the valley floor,
Lain smooth, may silent, never straight,
Followed one way, a guide to evanescence,
Or to the windy walls of ice and clay,
Invisible to naked sight, thin and crescent,
Tamed long before, now docile and calm.
Followed the other way,
Light handed, blue and grey,
Stones, solid and cold.
In a playa amidst the Silver state,
There lie stones that sail
Their paths short, their trails striate,
As the ephemeral winter concurrent,
Riding her breaking sheets of ice,
Passionate and fervent,
Yet to one, always still,
Moved so little and so late,
By the same forces we adhere,
The stuff mountains see great,
Their reverence steadfast, sincere,
So they dictate our paths,
Not the other way around.
In a playa amidst that wondrous place,
There lie the infractions of progress,
All that kneels for complacency’s sake,
And I can see for a moment, but brief,
Amongst the shelves of sentiment,
My heart in the cravings of sand and soil,
And I can see above in that inverse ocean,
Those stones and trails sought with such toil,
Getting so far with that little motion,
If they could see how far they’ve gone,
Would it seem to them,
As if they never moved,
As if the engines that drive them,
Are torment in accrue,
Of their own arrogance.
If they could see those engines,
The grand forces that move them,
To which they are worthless and small?
What would they ever say?
And from whom would they speak?
To their ground, rivers of rock and clay?
To the mountains, high and immovable?
To the stars, so vast and far,
That little would change if they were plucked,
And discarded.
If they could see the distance,
That the plates of the earth could sail,
Would they think less of their own?
In a playa, in the depths of my heart,
There lies a stone that sails,
Never keeping score, each step a new start,
It sees progress as numbers,
And never with eyes,
Which with envious reverence,
Look up to the sky,
And resent themselves,
That they do not move with the mountains,
Or shine as the stars,
That are confined to this ground, so cold and so hard,
But never do they halt, and draw behind their shoulder,
And see just how far they’ve come.
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