Fortunate Narcissus, finding himself and immortality
Within a pool. Suppose that he had hated
What gazed back at him, quivering with
Fear of breeze or stone, leaf or finger.

Hatred glaring out of the dark depths
Begets hatred. Thus if we have a hope
Of immortality, it lies in love
And in our ability to reflect, dim pools ourselves.

Loving or hating, distorting what fronts us,
We initially return as best we can
The image we perceive. Do we mistake?
Ah, yes. Lust may feign love, anger seem hate.

Divine perception demands a within stare.
A moment elongated into days and nights
Arrests the disturbed and undulating mirror.
Frozen, we see, interpreted by love, ourselves.

Impersonal reflections throw man upon himself;
Narcissus rooted on the bank from half an insight.
True imagery in mirroring human eyes and heart
Transcends the first creation, reveals a world apart.