Perhaps by some shift of gravel
unforeseen by eternity.
Perhaps by a slip of the body
numbed by the push of countless yesterdays
and that what is now must be.
Who knows what grain of chance
finally broke Olympian will.
In the last moments,
shoulder against stone,
the absurd judgement echoed in this head,
falsely easing the inevitable heft.
Then just the newly silent hillside,
and Sisyphus dead.