Breeze
Narcissus grew to hate
the touch of breeze on his forgotten flesh
or the warmth of sunshine on his face
the wind rippled his perfect mirrored lake
annoyance irritation.
ruining his view of his beauty,
a shower of glittering crystal shards, sun beams bent by a million waves, tickled by the touch of wind on water
the wind, worried for him, worried the lake trying to pry him from his deathly reverie
while around him the world changed
the wind lived to caress the flesh of men, to stir in them dreams of futures not yet lived
Lives affected, touched, pushed, harassed
by the natural world’s petulant chaotic energies
imagination is the sail on the ship of adventure
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