Before the lake, you know,

Narcissus

was only a boy.

Let's imagine for a moment

he never went outside.

He stays in his bedroom,

crumpling pages at the writing desk,

worrying over tomes and poems

and the broken strings on his lyre.

Let's imagine for a moment

the forest,

the way it turns so green and heavy in the summer

as if heaving, waiting for something,

so hungry,

so empty,

each footstep a tease.

Let's imagine for a moment

there was no lake.

There was no forest, either.

There was no mankind,

no Earth to hold it.

There was no language.

Let's imagine for a moment

I have nothing to say,

or I have something to say for myself.

Let's imagine for a moment

how it might feel to crack

the stone of my bones

and swallow the dust within.

I'd like for him to do it.

Like for him to push his tongue up inside.

There would be no lake.

No forest.

When he whispered my name,

I would not reply.