<\/p>\n
The shiny squat cylinders filled the expanse<\/p>\n
And showed an impressive selection of plants<\/p>\n
They sat on the deck a harbor to many<\/p>\n
An assortment of herbs, and a small frangipani<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Their owner, a thrifty and shrewd bargain spotter<\/p>\n
Would have, given her druthers, preferred terracotta<\/p>\n
And while glossy black glaze in some places looked nice<\/p>\n
She\u2019d hoped for red clay \u2013 but these were half price<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
She\u2019d snapped them up quickly and without compunction<\/p>\n
Less for their colour and form, than their function<\/p>\n
And arranged on the deck they suited the scenery<\/p>\n
Particularly now that they sprouted such greenery<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The deck area itself stretched into the yard<\/p>\n
A broad, roomy platform amid the fa\u00e7ade<\/p>\n
Scattered with seating and tables and tubs<\/p>\n
And surrounded by gardens, tall trees and shrubs<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Facing the East and the morning sun\u2019s rays<\/p>\n
Breezy and cool, at least on good days<\/p>\n
Shaded in part by a sloping verandah<\/p>\n
And partially too, by a tall Jacaranda<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Where, high up, a bundle of twigs and leaves rested<\/p>\n
The site, in the Spring, where the magpies had nested<\/p>\n
A safe, secure home, if not regal or grande and<\/p>\n
Now in the summer, not entirely abandoned<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
One magpie remained, a sleek juvenile<\/p>\n
Why he\u2019d chosen to stay in that tree for a while<\/p>\n
Is anyone\u2019s guess \u2013 fear ? \u2013 popularity?<\/p>\n
Perhaps he just valued the familiarity ?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Regardless, he stayed, and out one day pecking<\/p>\n
Discovered the shiny black pots on the decking<\/p>\n
And noticing movement, with closer inspection<\/p>\n
Saw, for the first time, his own true reflection<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Alarmed and attracted, emotions all mixed<\/p>\n
The magpie stood staring, completely transfixed<\/p>\n
Consumed by all of the feelings that stirred<\/p>\n
In the singular sight of that beautiful bird<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He hopped to the left, the mirror complied<\/p>\n
And in perfect unity, skipped to the side<\/p>\n
As each movement galvanized infatuation<\/p>\n
Flattery is best expressed by imitation<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The bird must have doubted the vision he faced<\/p>\n
With the eyes on his head being laterally placed<\/p>\n
He could never be sure of what stood right before him<\/p>\n
And none but his shade at hand to reassure him<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
But neither left, right, nor both eyes caused him dis-ease<\/p>\n
As he swiveled his head through one-eighty degrees<\/p>\n
The vision remained, gorgeous and pure<\/p>\n
And the proximity did nothing to quell the allure<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The only problem he had \u2013 the quandry, as such<\/p>\n
Was that, try as he might, they could never touch<\/p>\n
Furthermore, if he stepped away only a fraction<\/p>\n
His shade, too retreated, in instant reaction<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
And so remained, both certain, and mystified<\/p>\n
A Magpie Narcissus trapped by his pride<\/p>\n
Unable to drink, unable to eat<\/p>\n
Unable to suffer the loss of retreat<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Unable to give up on what he had sought<\/p>\n
He found himself, by his own desire, caught<\/p>\n
In a love all consuming, unrequited and cruel<\/p>\n
Like the tale of Narcissus, the nymph and the pool<\/p>\n
\u2026\u2026.<\/p>\n
Narcissus, the hunter, unmatched in his beauty<\/p>\n
Came upon a clear pool, while on hunting duty<\/p>\n
And catching a glimpse of his own reflection<\/p>\n
Became infatuated with his own perfection<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Falling deeply in love with the other he saw<\/p>\n
He stayed by the water and could not withdraw<\/p>\n
Those beautiful eyes, that skin, those curls<\/p>\n
He\u2019d reach out, and lose him in ripples and swirls<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
But always returning, his watery shade<\/p>\n
Kept Narcissus trapped in that reflective glade<\/p>\n
Staring, enthralled, unable to think<\/p>\n
Unwilling to eat and not caring to drink<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Lost in himself he could not break away<\/p>\n
waxing and withering day after day<\/p>\n
Until finally, still gazing, and un-interfered<\/p>\n
His light faded out, and he just disappeared<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
some time later its told, a forest nymph burst<\/p>\n
into the glade, and dying of thirst<\/p>\n
knelt by the pool and, drank deeply, and halted<\/p>\n
finding the water briny and salted<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
recoiling, confused, this ancient divinity<\/p>\n
enquired of the pool, the cause of salinity<\/p>\n
the pond then responded in language bereft<\/p>\n
\u2018That\u2019s my tears, I\u2019ve been crying since Narcissus left\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cI weep for Narcissus, I mourn for his gaze<\/p>\n
the way that he stayed here and stared out his days,<\/p>\n
and the beauty I treasured right there in his face<\/p>\n
is something that I cannot ever replace\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The nymph nodded knowingly bowing her head<\/p>\n
Recalling Narcissus, and quietly said<\/p>\n
\u201cof course you must miss his wonderful features<\/p>\n
he surely was made the most perfect of creatures\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Then with a brief ripple through Lily and lotus<\/p>\n
The lake whispered back \u201cyou know I didn\u2019t notice\u201d<\/p>\n
Was Narcissus beautiful? \u2013 I guess that he was<\/p>\n
That\u2019s not why I cry \u2013 I weep now because<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
When he knelt above me, to gaze at his guise<\/p>\n
I then saw myself, mirrored there in his eyes<\/p>\n
My own self, my beauty, my own true complexion<\/p>\n
Now without him there – I have no reflection<\/p>\n
\u2026\u2026.<\/p>\n
When we think of the magpie, and two-faced trouble<\/p>\n
Should we ask ourselves, what of the double?<\/p>\n
The mirror, trapped too in this terrible tryst<\/p>\n
Which without the other, would never exist<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
But if so, the first too would stay hidden from sight<\/p>\n
Unless, by a lens, be brought to the light.<\/p>\n
Could it be that we only exist by connection<\/p>\n
Do we feel we are real, or are we reflection?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Trapped in a glaze and endlessly waiting<\/p>\n
A glimpse of ourselves, anticipating<\/p>\n
eyes that stop looking, and finally start seeing<\/p>\n
and in that recognition, call us into being<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
and is that the function that love must perform<\/p>\n
to finally show us the shape of our form<\/p>\n
to show, without love that is reciprocated<\/p>\n
we go through this life, never truly created<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The magpie, after the longest day, chose<\/p>\n
To fly off \u2013 encouraged by a squirt of the hose<\/p>\n
For the owner of pots could not stand the pecking<\/p>\n
Or the mess that the bird had left on the decking<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The spell, thus broken, may never have been<\/p>\n
Like dust, in a second, erased from the scene<\/p>\n
And the owner, while weeding, and planting a creeper<\/p>\n
Wished again, that the terracotta was cheaper<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n