[Sisyphus in love]
       

At first it was the stone the rough stubble skin of it the call
and response the stone's going its perpetual coming back
the insistence of the fact of it shaping each piece of his body
muscle bone rough hands their slow curve toward its weight
the way it wanted the way it wanted him never farther away
than the length of his arm the cheek to cheek dance the way
he wore its dust and scent breathed it in and then it was the hill
the way he cut his name his story over time the furze worn
in tracks how it defined his being a tipped horizon the sky
obscured the way it wore each cloud the world's difficult
weather as jewel and costume the myriad ways it refused
to move be moved seduced or yield he loved it most for that
and then it was the song those lovely small waves that flutter
felt against the ear his skin that it could also sometimes be
like this those pulsing waves such fine such slight adjustments
it took his breath tuned turned his ear to hear and overhear
those notes upon his shore his skin and then it was the stone again

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Copyright © 2017 Leslie Harrison All rights reserved
from The Book of Endings
The University of Akron Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission