Sisyphus Loses Track by D. R. James

His round trips triggered the technology
of counting: clouds, moons, planets, galaxies,
his rank breaths dusting the eternal groove.
But erasure of future, easing of
scars inflicted playing strung puppeteer
to the gods, echo sweet gestures tendered
like rain. Compass missing, mirror of death
broken into windows cheering on chance
encounters with the playful world, he looks,
he touches, he glides the electric land.