Back at ground
zero, ocean level
The mountain looms,
beckons, looms again,
beckons again. Sisyphus,
did you say Shehechiyanu
with each new time of climbing?
What is the nature, the color, of
the rock I roll up this year to receive
my Torah once more upon its rounded
faces? How will the chiseled words erode
this time as it tumbles back into the creative
and all the more frightening for being so depths?
Am I the rock? Is God the one rolling me? God, if
so, I praise you from the depths for your persistence
