DENNIS SALEH

THE MASK OF NARCISSUS

The world is fescennine and vermilion
with dusk's lurid insistence

The chalice of the moon lisfts
to the obvolute manner of the colors

wrapping round into night
relieved at last they are gone

It is not surprising to find one's self
lost at the skirt of evening fall

The moon concentrates one
like a mirror

But here is the myth of Narcissus
What he would give to not be himself

to slip into the mother-of-pearl
and become white a canvas

become less himself and more
a painting of a mirror

The mirror is the mask
Narcissus fixes himself in

And turns round to the world
but do not ask him to sign it

He loves no one Not himself
Sleep searches the night

through in silence for remedy
to his dreams but in vain

He stands before a great sea
which mutes sullenly

Echo at the far end of the water
says with the waves Narcissus