I have begun where so many
have ended, yet I can’t push
the boulder any higher, despite
the well laid path.

The weight of the stone increases
with every new notch on the timeline
and the most I can do is hold my
footing for slightly extended periods.

The red dirt is starting to dry
and crack and I can feel my
sneakers slipping again, the worn
soles struggling for friction. I
mentally dance for a rainy season, hoping
for some soft clay.

I can see the dark swollen cloud
of any proud tempest’s creation,
and it is shifting its electricity at a
hastened pace, but then evades my
sight behind the mountain’s peak,
once again ruining my day.

I quickly transpose the weight to my right shoulder,
careful not to shuffle in the sand, and I,
once again, feel comfortable.

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