Sisyphus and Vine

Of the days in which I am one thing
at least half I am many
I am not when I will not
and when I can I try.
But the wall builds itself
and the moon shines bright yet unseen
in the darkness which must follow
the shadow of the is not
pours itself across the surface
to run over the edges and pool underneath.
In this space below I oft find myself lying
drinking deep of the drops as they drip
greedy suckling sot
parched and starving from the strain of crawling under.
Prone in the blackness
beneath this somber harvest table
I reflect with nervous patience
on seats once sat
above
in the light.
in these times I wait
Being the not
unaware of the time in which I was.
Drip drop drip
comes the dark
Sisyphus pulling a vine
or a chain forging links at the other end