Narcissus

Narcissus fell in love with his own reflection

on the shores of San Francisco, even when

fully aware of the difficulties involved

in pulling him out of the water

and coaxing him into a church.

He can't promise his reflection sickness and health

when health is a scarce commodity,

he's stuck with clandestine candlelit dinners

because people are starting to talk,

slipping him the phone numbers of normal girls

rather than watery illusions,

but he doesn’t have the willpower to

walk past mirrors and shop windows

and keep his eyes tightly shut.

They can't be bound together

through life and death and paperwork,

not when gods and goddesses only

regard one as real, and the other

as some unattainable fantasy

who watches from the water,

worrying that some day

Narcissus will evaporate.