A Girl In The North Country

Sisyphus loved, but he loved in vain.

Ensconced in her bed, limbs intertwined,

they struck the golden chord of their hearts content.

Parted from his lover at light’s first sign,

morning shed mournful tears at love’s bitter refrain.

Sisyphus loved, but this love was too strong.

Casting eyes upon his paramour in mountains by water,

he saw something reflected: his heart, the void, his seeking soul?

In the flickering light of the eyes that drew him to her,

he knew that this love was not destined for long.

Sisyphus loved, but his love was Truth.

He fought the coming dawn and held her tight,

he stroked her hair, his fingers traced the course of her spine.

Sweeping her into the orbit of his waning light,

he drank from these moments as if from the fountain of youth.

Sisyphus loved, but he loved in vain.

He rolled the rock of his heart to the mountain’s peak

and then it sank from ecstasy’s ridge to agony’s lonely valley.

He guessed the machinery of love and pledged another week

with she who made him briefly whole again.