“Where do we learn to work like this?”

From Sisyphus and his endless, uphill rock-rolling where we end up 
tired as the smell of last night’s cod hanging in the kitchen
or done like a dung beetle after rolling the last dung ball of the day.
Imagine letting the ball fall and go rolling into the sea
where ocean waves release upon the shore 
like the unclenching of a fist that has unlearned 
the slow steps of a pallbearer treading again and again 
upon the sacred ways, red as worn, sanctuary carpet 
in the morning light.  To skip like a flower girl 
throwing rose petals left and right and into the face 
of the ring-bearer who carries his symbol of infinite 
love, careful not to let it drop and bust, a shattered jar
of rainbow-colored gumballs, where chance
could have them bounce and reel under a pew 
and disturb the slow, rolling of bones turning over
in the graves of hard-working saints, long-dead and gone.

Like Sisyphus

I learned to work like this
from Sisyphus who, tired
as a dung beetle after rolling
the last dung ball of the day
up its small food hill, let 
his ball go rolling into the sea
where ocean waves like eyelids
rose and fell, leaking salty tears
upon the feet of the child
who trembled like the slow, roll
of bones turning over in graves
of saints long-dead and gone,
never to tread again upon
the sacred ways, red 
as worn, sanctuary carpet
in the morning light.

“Whoever observes the wind will not sow; and whoever regards the clouds will not reap.” – Ecclesiastes 11:4

Worker of Wonders and Wonder,
who moves as wind through Chaos
and who fills the skies with cloud-shapes,
we lie awake in torment
guessing with thought,
Will the coming day
be a day for sowing
or a day for reaping?
Make whatever work we choose 
be fruitful
and may we have fruit
as the wind whispers
and the clouds roll.
Amen.