Echo
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.