From Sisyphus

Dear Stars, this Stone is more than stone,
 more than weight against my arms,
 my shoulders, my neck—
 more than a stone
 my legs must shove,
 my hands must grasp,
 my lungs must grunt into—
 more than a moan
 inside my soul
 that comes from knowing
 there is no escape from where I am,
 from who I am.

This is the burden of my being here,
this knowing that my place
 beneath your sky
 means endless work,
 means looking out into the universe
 of moons and suns
 in the death-like silence of each starry night,
 remembering yesterday
 has brought me to this day,
 this night,
 this strain to take another step
 up this steep hill,
 another breath that says
 I’m here,
 holding what I bear.

This Stone is life,
 my body,
 my mind.
 It belongs to me
 like skin and sweat.
 It’s what I think
 and what I fear to think.
 It’s what I know
 and what I do not know.
 It’s what I hate and love
 and groan against
 and lean my beating heart into.
 This Stone is all I have to share with you, dear stars.

Arnold Greenberg is a poet, novelist living off the grid in East Blue Hill.  He has completed a book of poems titled Sisyphus and a new work, Morning Songs.