white horizon

already my body has cast a shadow
in this dim low light. here under the cathedral
dome, here in the assaulted sandy earth.
hands, knees, feet move sweat and then dry salt saturated.
still. forward.
looking down on my white horizon,
my name is Sisyphus. my name is inchworm,
still I have hope.
do i leave a trail of scars or songs.
the circle is my prayer hum of grace.
chanting faith. enchanted.
searching for those words that are lost.

© deb goldstein