Narcissus Laments

I do not like to see my face floating At the foot of a ewer, nor in drops of water, nor in the glassy eye of a slaughtered goat. I am beautiful, but water and cloudless gems distort, they are torturers of disfigurement. Since I saw my reflected beauty I have been unable to mirror that perfection. I have ardently endeavored to emblazon the beacon of that first time, when I, suffused in beams of crystalline air, beheld my countenance clear yet now I am caught, caulked, and diked forever dogged by a stark magicking from ever parading that delicate radiance, that inaugural art of my gift, my exquisite features. Yet ever my mind’s eye returns to that translucent and timeless time that empyreal morn, so fine and fair where I beheld what I thought was there and believed upon it.