the angel dancing on the head of a pin

Sweet face of an Angel

It’s the minutia-
bits of things that must be done
over and over and over
and over again.

I’m no Sisyphus,
pushing that same boulder
up the hill
the same way

Well, maybe I am.

What would I do without that stone?
Pushing it with all my strength
until at last,
at the end of the day,
I watch it roll down again
as the sun sets scarlet on the western ridge
and I pour that first glass of red wine.

*** Twelve Days of Angels, Day Three