the things we do to roll the stone of the world

1
To roll the stone up the mountaintop, only
having it roll back, to start again. Do you
sometimes feel this old? Bones, body
weathered as stone, faith broken like a horse

learned of certain gain, loss. No longer having
child's eyes even if you cling on to wonder.

2
Yesterday, sitting at the back during a vision-
presentation; and later, in a conference 
by activists: the things done to roll the stone
of the world. To where we hope a better place. 
(Sometimes it takes twice as much to keep on

believing). We do anyway; like the stranger
who introduced himself and shook my hand.

3
And courageous, asked "Will you take a look
at my poems, tell me your thoughts. 
I've shown them to no one else." Such trust.
Such honor to be given it. No matter the poems

were bad; there is always enough gentleness.
Aren't attempts half the success itself?

4
I wrote T a very long letter last night while
I was high, with an explicit apology: "Let me
say these before my short sentences surface."
I meant sober where sober meant quiet.
This morning, I dare not open the sent emails.

Because T is afraid of permanence (and I
never asked why) and I give thoughts bodies

5
of perceivable, tangible form. No plant in pot;
all of them on ground. Rhodora, fierce

woman, I met her again a week ago, gone
the sharpness into gentleness of the weary.
Retired after warring ideologies for sixty years.

6
All these slow march of protests towards that.
Even though we might carry no banner.
The things we do to roll the stone of the world.

I kissed her last night after making love.
The soft lights showing gentleness--

that which makes us keep on 
rolling stone of the world.