Narcissus

Alison Hicks

We walked along the bank and couldn’t find them.
Voices float in through walls, singing that won’t be silenced.
Trying to match up what happened to the feeling.

The painting is not a boat, but we pitch like one.
Sounding against its fellows, broken at the hinge.

Keys fall through the grate.
Pink worm on the sidewalk.
Crocus heads too early dance.