The Death of Narcissus
       

October, and the glen
resounds with want,
wind, yellow rain of birch leaves.

The face and body wander,
driven by disdain,
downhill where earth
and echo
hold their breath.

From a distance, silver
eye lashed by dying buttonbush.
At its flanks,
the warmth of moss
pressing palms and knees.

Hemlock, sky, clouds
above and again in the depths
frame first the face,
then two deltoids of desire
tensing as he leans hard
over the stillness of self,
sensing a virgin desire.

Lowering his lips, he
feels the coolness of this first
kiss, never noticing the shadow
his beauty casts
over these violated waters.

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Copyright © 2016 Ken Craft All rights reserved
from The Indifferent World
FutureCycle Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission