Le Mot Juste

A completely new poem I just wrote today. Based on the myth of Narcissus, it is narrated by the river in which he drowns.

"A mirror becomes a knife when it's broken.
A stick becomes a flute when it's loved."
-Yoko Ono, "Grapefruit."

River Rising
He would come to me each morning. The sun would rise behind him casting his shadow before me. He would lean over me and smile down into my face, then touch me with the tips of his fingers. Each time I was reborn. My old self discarded like a pebble. My body was no longer my own. My vision no longer crystalline or pristine as it was before. His eyes were my anchor, his voice my compass. Through the forest, he called me back to him. Where? Where? Here. Here. When he would leave me, there were no levies strong enough to hold back my tears.

There have been others who have come and gone. Most return with the summer suns. I recognise their voices. Their laughter disturbs the monotony of my days. Still, I lye unmoved beside them. Their words are words in a bottle, dying inside their mirrored prison.

Then one day he returned, blood on his hands. I wept, myself, to see him cry. He opened his arms and leaned down to kiss me. And, like a good wife, I welcomed him home at last.

Part of the inspiration for this poem (the title, for example) comes from this song:

"I heard the river rising
rising up over my head.
Heard the river rising
This is what it said,
'I don't need the live ones
I just take care of the dead' "