His Soul Grips Him from the Depths
Narcissus’ soul reached up just high enough
From depths of water to invoke his love.
His image seized him. Its embrace was rough,
More like a rape. His beauty was above,
Two times, upon the surface of the pool,
And higher still where he was gazing down,
Two hoverings. Before that time the rule
Had been that even with his slightest frown
He suffocated lungs. But now his chest
Constricted there against his swollen blood.
What all those others knew, he now confessed
With crushed out gasps. He knew ravishment’s thud.
..Below him wavered beauty and below
….It was his soul. He fell in love with woe.
That soul had made his body flawless, pure
In its perfection. Others had not tried
To see the utterness within. The lure
Is what they swallowed. He became the bride
His soul had always wanted. No mere vow
Was needed. He was wed to gorgeous eyes
And lashes, perfect nostrils—and that brow,
A Mount Olympus made from Zeus’s sighs.
Narcissus cared for what his body could
Accomplish till that moment. Now he knew
His body was an idol made of wood
Or cinders. It had always been taboo
Because it wasn’t sacred like the well,
That depth, his soul. That grasped him with its spell.
………..