NARCISSUS

King Narcissus has no joy,
Alone rock, vexed in the throat.
A heated breath crumbles
The Flower grown wild
From a piercing spasm.

Each instant has its own strangled cry.
Such a quiet, ill race
Is a pale simmer,
A warm, grieving curse
Broken between weariness and flocks.

Yet one Word will make it sprout,
One Sea, alone, will shelter
That bitter caravan,
That Sun-King
Fallen in speech,
Tired and stormy
And frenzied of heat –
A harsh crown
For the wild fall
Of the lightning-like reeling
That first sparkles,
and then hides.

Whole race is slain in rock.
Choiceless, all burns and is born
Through a long, mortal toll
Frozen to silence.
All returns in secret and in shreds,
Like a dragon masked into a carcass
Before the heart of the King All-Flowers.