Witness Sisyphus
wishing himself well,
in his quiet walks
down his penitent hill,
the next of his struggles before him,
weary but facing the weight
in the solace of breaths
less heavy and stretched out
in one toil less
than the rest of eternity.

I can see him,
chest heaving,
shoulders light,
feet springing from the red dirt beneath him,
kicking up dust.
He might have been singing,
or sighing,
and smiling,
not in resignation but relief,
knowing this is all there is.

01/18/2009

Posted on 01/18/2009
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