A narcissistic creature,
I have only my voice;
yet, think this is enough
to pronounce some other.
Language is not god,
anymore than god.
I can no longer conjure you
from conversation’s scraps:
I speak your name again
without an echo for reply,
only my muddled reflection
in which to quietly drown.
Close by this silent pond,
such flowers bloom now.
(May 7, 2016)
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