For Sisyphus

A deep, heavy tome;

A rock of one’s own:

These are things that we know.

The dark swirling hole;

The stories we’re told:

I lay these at your feet

That wide open maw;

Ten long, shiny claws;

Howling ‘til hoarse – then

Some scattered applause:

We must not forget to laugh.

One cold, dusty tree;

Brown green and white leaves:

The things we never knew.

A low, thrumming voice;

The sharp, lonely choice.

Harvested some violets before the neighbor mowed our yard, and made violet syrup for the first time.

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