Echo cannot tell the tale: silenced Mute before the God of her idolatry She cries softly in shallow sobs, Dry and silent, lost, unshared. Narcissus lies, a white flower plucked Beside the still surface, black and cold Where he peered into his doom foretold Of living to come to know himself. In this wood a stricken rabbit cries, Watch as Narcissus sets him free From a trap placed with hunter's skill His mind upon catching larger prey. While others, more worthy, Are struggling in traps set carelessly By this deep and untamed beauty, Laid thick upon an undeserving vessel. When something pure was consumed In the wrath of a God's attention, A force, raw, unwitting, was born. Certainty, born dearly, Narcissus, For, you, alone, did not have to see Beauty which would lay you bare, To love vexed and bewitching Tearing off in unrequiting strips. Echo drowning, seeking breath Sinking to her malady Driven lowest by your unthinking curse. Hollowed out, a whisper of loving death, Starved of the food of love: confined To the tempered words others use, Who could ever breach that great void Between the lover and the loved? Need spurned is not destroyed, But turned darker in purpose, As a thousand lovers wished You sleep sweetly, and bade You bath in the pale morning light. So now, a thousand dark hungers Willed Nemesis bind your fate to theirs: That you should love without requite. So, it would go, Narcissus, Dagger sheathed, would feel thirst, Thirst that would be sated in a deep Unblinking pool, where into A bewitching figure was cast, Unfamiliar, and yet known forever Gazing straight through himself At a thousand skyshot stars winking. Untouchable, beyond the reach of his screams Encased, this creature still rich in green life, As he falls to the musk of the misty damp. Fevered by day, tormented in dreams, Still the creature, seemed As if born to a nobler, happy world, Glowing with the unconfined joy He had felt when he was still whole. Gems and pearls of sad things, Twisted and turned in the light, As he rose to a third morning of Palid vigil, raking his hair with his hands A single tear, first and last he would weep Fell from those shining eyes. While the thing we love is in the world A piece of us is forever lost, So upon the breast of his white chest He beat to free himself. Sweet release from the love we seek Is rarely in our hands For Narcissus his torment and love Lie together now upon the ground.