What Is It Like to Be a Stone? (Third Version)

As I walk amidst this
blue, placid daylight,
I ponder the stoic stones.

They sit as still as monks,
or at least school children
in the presence of a good teacher.

This tranquility escapes me,
says nothing of
industry and liability,
education and the arts,
interpersonal relations,
God.

My hopes have shy eyes,
longing for a silence that they avoid.

Though maybe some day far off,
along the end of the rail,
that silence will glow
like gold low in the ground.

And the noise will be interrupted,
like a clear sky by an airplane,
will be pierced,
like grapes under a scorching sun.