Narcissus Distracted

by Barry Wallenstein

Passing by a mirror,
he pays no attention
and gazes in the other direction.
He pushes forward without looking back.
It’s enough to know it’s there he thinks;
placing one small thought behind another,
he banishes envy, spite, rancor
and courts a breeze on its way
across a field of heather.

Well below the field,
beyond an opening in the fence,
the stream is damned,
the water is pooled
cold and clear enough
to see down to the pebbles.
He breaks the surface
and counts the stones.