Echo to Narcissus

Painting by Michelangelo


Echo to Narcissus


I am the rain whose hands
Caress the pods that have red seeds asleep
in their nerves.
I come to you, Narcissus,
To wash away with my touch that will sail
through your skin
The words spoken in old men's whisper
that linger and resonate in your blood
I come to tear down the billboards
in your brain
that have made you blind.
I bring the key made of birds' songs
that will unlock the unknown room.
I am the rain falling on your hair,
To trickle as a finger down your cheek
and under your chin.
Turn around.


Duane Locke

Posted over on Gumball Poetry