Narcissus always carried
a small hand mirror
just in case there was no water
to see the self in
like most of the rest of humanity
carrying their little vanities
And the child
for the first time seeing
a shell of the self
(and shocked by the sight of it)
Spends the rest of life enslaved
to this so-true-and-false
mirror image
and only now and then seeing
over a shoulder
the world beyond the mirror
and never reflecting
that life itself
be only a samsara illusion
in the hand-held mirror of
some Higher Narcissus
leaning over our
little quivering pool
In which might still be reflected
a totally Ideal Being.
Poem taken from A Far Rockaway of the Heart
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