The Failure of Narcissus

I

A pool of water

Scooped in the flat of a rock.

When I look into it I see nothing,

Not even my face.

Only a trap door of ripples.

Dizziness grabs me under my shirt.

It is a long way into the red weave of trees,

A long chilly way.

The black wingtips of a hawk

Lean against the wind.

I

Chalky quiet seeps under the trees

And rubs against the white stone cliffs.

My face opens wide, exposing a face of uncut stone.

Painstakingly I write down these words,

Trying to reach you from the face

Where I am shipwrecked, inhuman,

Recalling the movement of lips

Like waves along a beach.