Ever rattling around in my head. Christ’s boulder,
rolled back from the tomb. The one that astonished.
Sisyphus’s boulder, which he can’t quite roll up to
the top of that hill. The one that hurts. Cat’s eyes,
agates, allies, purees, tumbling out of cloth bags—
Boulders that brought the whole neighborhood out
when a circle was drawn in the dirt. The ones that
delighted. Jesus wielded magic; Sisyphus muscle;
Howie, Bruce, Doris and me—an opposing thumb.
Exploring the rotundity of marble. All of us struck
Originally appeared in CQ (California Quarterly)