Poetry

Narcissus

When last clouds wept
Their bitter drops,
I was lying,
My chin on hands, cradling
The face I
Saw. A spruce dipped,
As if gazing quietly
Over my shoulder,
Its limbs nestled
By the water of the pond.
The beauty of my cheeks
And eyes, no line drawn
Unkempt. Beauty designed
To show the world
Where dreams lie.
The spruce smeared the glass,
Droplets that fell like ink
Marring my vision,
Like a refraction of purity
As water distorts light.