Narcissus

Before he finished eating, he pushed
the chair away and went running
down to the pond, where willows bent
toward their reflections. The water
was cold and clear and still. His face
floated for a moment in sunlight
and he reached out to touch the image
of his hand. How beautiful the flawless
skin, blue hint of veins along his arms,
hair tawny as a lion’s mane.
How strange to feel this other kind
of hunger, this appetite for gossamer
flesh and deep pools of those other eyes
peering back at him with an invitation
to dive without care into the darkness below.

[Steve Klepetar’s work has received several nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Flutter Press has recently published two chapbooks: My Father Teaches Me a Magic Word and My Father Had Another Eye.]

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