Ode to a Second Narcissus

If you are

a road to choose
a treasure to keep
a happening to await
then I start to doubt

If you are

a river to cross
a cliff to climb
a monument to build

then I'm not up to the challenge

If you are

a beast to harness
a flower to pick
a butterfly to capture

then I am afraid

***

If you are

a book to read
a spring to quench the thirst
a field to plant trees in

then come to me, then come with me

for I cannot
conquer, acquire, possess
but myself.


Montreal 19 March 1986

A Single Entry Diary

Yesterday, I lost the last of my senses.

It didn't come on suddenly. But had been creeping on for quite a while. I'd dismissed it to a remote corner of my mind, secretly dreading it.

It started with my taste. I couldn't distinguish them. Eventually, everything was tasteless.

Then I lost my sense of smell. I wouldn't recognize even stench.

Then my eyesight gradually dwindled. So I relied more on touch and hearing, as any other blind man would.

As my hearing became more remote, I kept thinking that it would come back, because I could still feel my heartbeat.

But yesterday, yesterday I lost my touch.

Now I am in complete sensory deprivation. Is this bliss?

How do I know I'm alive?

I don't.

Yesterday, a part or the whole of me died. I can't tell the difference anymore.

Yesterday, as I lost the last of my senses, something definitely snapped deep inside me.

Perhaps it was you?

Montreal, February 22, 1986